Hidden Currents
by Thanwen
Summary: How did Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, the most important lord of Gondor except the Steward himself, meet his future wife? And how did the two of them manage to kick off the hugest scandal since the days of Imrazor and Mithrellas? Spin-off from "Through Shadow"; just a bit of fluff and fun.
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, I know! You are educated people and expect a story to have high moral and intellectual standards. And you would never read the colourful papers that tell you all the juicy gossip about Royalties and the like, not even secretly. So you are not interested in how Imrahil of Dol Amroth met his future wife, are you?**

Spin-off from "Through Shadow"; just a bit of fluff and fun.

 **Hidden Currents**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Tol Cobas**

Bay of Belfalas, Úrime 2986, TA

The fact that he had to duck, when stepping out onto the deck of the _"Vengeance"_ made him chuckle. The doors of the captain's cabin being made for much shorter men, the ship could not hide her Umbarian origin, though Calimab had been more than eager to eliminate any traces that the corsair-scum had ever had their paws on her. Pleased with himself, Imrahil of Dol Amroth let his gaze sweep over the slender hull and up to the woad-dyed sails. A true runner she was – and she was his. Walking over to the gunwale, he let his fingers trail the smooth wood. Teak! The very best he had ever seen. And even Calimab's old father, with decades of experience as a shipwright, had been beside himself at the rare quality of the wood and the frame of the ship.

He heaved a delighted sigh. No matter how much he hated the southern rats, there was no denying that the bastards knew how to build ships. His grin deepened. And yet that had not saved them from falling prey to Dol Amroth's navy. Not that he would deceive himself that Dol Amroth's boats and seamanship were any better than that what the Umbarians could boast of. The whore-sons simply had not expected the _"Sea-wolf"_ to be hiding in attendance in the sunken crater of Tol Cobas. And even when surprised like that they had put up a grim fight, every single man knowing that no quarter would be given.

And now she was his. He flexed his shoulders, fixing the sails with an appraising look. They were making little headway, the wind blowing moderately but solidly from the south-east. They would need constant tacking to steer their intended course towards Tolfalas and the estuary of the Anduin, but if the wind held, which was common at this time of the year, they would have quite a speedy return to Cobas Haven.

With the command to tack ringing over deck, he stepped a little back to be out of the sailors' way. It was their first patrol on the _"Vengeance"_ , a hand-picked crew, cutlass-happy sea dogs, eager to hunt down every corsair who dared to turn up in as much as a log-boat near the shores of Belfalas. And all of them were more than excited as they were heading for Tol Cobas, the very spot Ossë had given their enemies into their hands, and what was more, had provided them with a prize beyond imagination. Sacrifices to the Unreliable-one and his sweet spouse Uinen they would offer, thanking them for their victory and pleading for their further support. He knew only too well how important that gesture was for the superstitious lot on board and he had ensured that it would be something they would remember. The corsair captain's scimitar, an impressive weapon made of finely damascened steel, the hilt studded heavily with precious stones, would go overboard into the fathomless depths of the crater and also the massive golden necklace the Umbarian had worn, distinguishing him as a member of Umbar's nobility. A smile crept over his features. He might let go of a treasure, but it would win him the hearts of his crew. And was it not more important than anything else to show them that he was able to forsake riches to ensure their well-being?

"Happy with what you see, Captain?" Grinning from ear to ear, Maeron, his first mate and close friend from childhood, appeared at his side.

"Happy? Just happy?" Throwing back his head, Imrahil spread out his arms. "Look at her, feel the way she moves, her elegance. And you ask me if I'm happy?" Heaving a deep breath, he shook his head. "No, I'm not happy. I'm delighted, excited, drunk with exhilaration. I..." The heeling of the tacking ship stopped his enthusiastic gush and made him grab for his friend's shoulder.

"Ossë's balls." Maeron chortled with laughter. "You really seem to be tight. Shall I assist you to your bunk and place the bucket you'll need next morning in front of it?"

Laughing, Imrahil punched him in the ribs. "Let's hope that this kind of jaggedness doesn't cause any hangover, for if it does, I swear I'm dead. I feel that there's nothing else I might wish for, now that this ship is mine."

With mock-disapproval, Maeron shook his head. "Pirate-spawn! If I didn't know better I would assume you've got brine in your veins."

Side by side they went to the bow. The sea stretched before them, greenish-blue, swinging in a low, lazy swell. What a day! Maeron's soft chuckle caught Imrahil's attention, and he gazed at him quizzically.

"You really look as if you have just made love to this hovel of planks and sails, Imrahil. I'm afraid you are lost to all members of the fairer sex now."

Grinning, Imrahil shrugged. "Perhaps I am. At least at the moment no woman in all this Middle-earth could tempt me."

"No woman?" Maeron looked sceptical. "Even if Ossë sent you one of his mermaids?"

Imrahil laughed. "I doubt that Ossë has such a thing in mind. Has he not already favoured me more than enough, giving me the chance to capture a ship like this?" Turning serious, he shook his head. "No, Maeron. I'm afraid there won't be any mermaid for me, nor for anybody else. Have an eye on the men tonight, will you? I don't grudge them the celebration, but make sure there are no drunken bodies."

His friend shrugged. "You don't need to worry. They all had their fill of booze ashore and won't neglect their duties. And what is more, you have a way with the men and they would rather be hacked into pieces than disappoint you."

"I know." A wry grin played around Imrahil's lips. "And I would never doubt their valour and commitment. But believe me: Not a few of them find it much easier to risk their life in battle than to forego wenches and booze."

ooooo

She heaved herself over the low side of the little boat and then simply stayed lying on deck, drawing her knees up to her chest. No freshwater! She had had so much hope, spotting the patches of greenery up on the steep slopes of the islet. And entering the natural harbour of what had to be a sunken crater had seemed so treacherously promising. Sure, the large patches of sea-lavender covering the beach above the flood line had been no evidence for drinkable water. Being a child of the Falas, she knew that those flowers thrived on brackish water, unfit for human consumption. But the copse up there below the looming wall of the black rock...

She sighed and sat up, leaning against the outboard planks. It had been exhausting to trudge up there, and it had been totally in vain. The trees had proved to be low, wind-crippled figs, their gnarled roots gripping the thin covering of soil, plunging into every crevice of the rock, but there had been no sign of the water she had hoped for. No spring, not even a puddle, though the residue in some shallow hollows of the rock had hinted that there had to be stagnant water, at least after a rainfall. A rainfall! There was next to no chance of it, Úrime always being the driest month. She had checked the trees for fruit, but had only found a few unripe ones and she knew better than to eat those.

Snuffling determinedly, she scolded herself for being pathetic. And silly on top of all. She needed water and if she was to find some she had to move. She licked her chapped lips. Idiotic, how she had troubled her mind with so many things that might occur on her flight, but the lack of water had never been one of them. She swallowed, the dryness of her mouth almost making it impossible. She had known that old Limdir kept a small keg below the thwart like all fishermen, and sailing as close to the shore as possible without being recognised as a woman, she had expected to be able to refill it where streamlets and small rivers emptied into the sea. What she had not considered was the fact that such spots, providing access to the sea and freshwater in one, were perfect locations for human settlements, be it little hamlets or just the temporary camps of herders who drove their animals there because the everlasting breeze from the sea kept the bot-flies at bay. There had been no chance to get any water unseen, and even if the villagers had not heard yet about the events on Tolfalas, a young woman alone in a fishing boat would have aroused curiosity and no doubt set her pursuers on her tracks all too soon.

She rolled her shoulders and passed a hand over her tear-smeared face. She had been crying all the way back to the boat, disappointed, exhausted, but wailing did not help. If she wanted to reach Anfalas alive, she needed water. She knew approximately where she was, having recognized the jutting cliffs of Dol Amroth the day before. Passing that vivid port and the fairway that led towards it had almost frightened her out of her wits and she had continued sailing at night. The wind had been in her favour, a constant though gentle breeze from south-east, but now she found it difficult to say how much headway she had been making with the help of the small rectangular sail of the boat. Her map showed several small islands in the Bay of Belfalas, all of them marked as uninhabited, but she was not sure how far she might have entered into the bay of Cobas Haven where the Ringló flowed into the bay, the ancient harbour of Edhellond on its banks. That area she wanted to avoid under all circumstances. She needed to head north-west, making for the coast of Calenhir and risk the first opportunity to refill her keg. If that went well, she would follow the shore further west. There were settlements on the banks of the Lefnui and perhaps there even was a chance to change the boat for a horse to continue...

She shook her head. It was futile to think too far ahead and lose oneself in daydreams. Sooner or later the news of her disappearance would even reach as far as Anfalas and people would be clever enough to put two and two together. The only thing she could hope for was that Thólinnas would feel so insulted and disgusted with her behaviour that he would be willing to call the marriage off. Though given what a greedy prick he was, she couldn't even be sure of that. She clenched her fists. No way would she go back to Tolfalas! Let her parents sell the island to the Lord of Pelargir, but not with her as the cherry on the cake. But first things first. Water!

With a groan she rose. The tide had come in while she had been trudging up the slope and the anchor rope was tightening. She let her gaze wander to where the spurs of the rocky beach reached out into the sea like two encircling arms, leaving only a narrow gap to pass into the natural harbour. The pressure of the tide through the channel was visible even from where her boat was anchored in the shallows. She would have to wait for the ebb as there was no chance to row her small boat against the current.

And then she froze. Clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry, she flung herself down as the slender hull shot in, making use of the current of the incoming tide. Hoping desperately that she had not been spied yet, she crept to the side of the boat and risked a glance. No doubt: an Umbarian dromond!

Panting with rising panic, she crouched again. For a fleeting second she hoped it might be merchants, but immediately she suppressed that futile thought. No Umbarian, merchant or corsair alike would say no to the chance to get their hands on slaves. Nor would they hesitate to try and get a fat ransom for her, should they find out who she was. Her hand clutched her grandfather's signet ring, hanging on a silver chain around her neck. Perhaps making her origin known would be the lesser evil. But then it might as well end in a forced marriage to an Umbarian noble should they know about the laws of the West that still held on Tolfalas. Too little difference to the fate of a slave and none to what she had fled from! She bit her lips. She had better use what wits she had to escape from what she saw before her. It was no use to jump overboard and try to get to the beach. Not only would the men fish her out in no time, but also there was nowhere to hide on the islet. No, there was no chance to get away. But they would not get their paws on her. If she only had already lifted the anchor!It was but a small stone one, but if she tied her hair to it, it would pull her down in no time. She swallowed back the tears that burned behind her eyes and reached for the knife that was tied to her calf. She would not have the strength nor the resolve to stab herself, but if she placed it on the side of her neck all it needed was a hearty pull and her carotid would be severed.

Bringing her fist that clutched the blade to her lips, she muttered a prayer to Uinen and Ossë. If she was to escape enslavement it was no use to hide. She had to act now. The Umbarians were certainly furling the sails now and she could hear the characteristic sound of anchors being cast. She swallowed, her legs weak with fear. Willing her heartbeat to calm, she stood and faced the ship.

She blinked. Could it really be? The silver swan on blue! The ship flew the colours of Dol Amroth! Her gaze flitted to the side near the bow. _"Vengeance",_ the Sindarin name written in Tengwar! Her knees buckled, just as the crew lowered a boat to approach hers.

ooooo

"What the...?" Utterly baffled, Imrahil stared at the figure climbing over the rail with the help of a sailor. The tightly knotted headscarf as well as the garment, a simple tunic and lose, calf-long trousers, spoke of a local fisherman, but the curves under the rough-spun garb left no doubt about its female owner. He frowned. A lone woman out here, where the bay of Cobas Haven bordered on the open sea? Impossible. He motioned to his first mate. "Have the island searched, Maeron. I don't fancy nasty surprises."

Leaning against the rail, the woman raised her head. "There is nobody on the island. Nobody and nothing. No water..."

The voice petered out, hoarse and low and Imrahil found himself staring into a face with dark brown eyes, lids red and swollen. He blinked. _How young a face._ A perfect oval, suntanned and framed by coarse linen. Not beautiful – certainly not, with the rather fleshy nose and the energetic chin – but Uinen help him – intriguing like no face he had ever seen before. Her nose and cheekbones showed traces of sunburn and her lips... It hit him like a battle axe: Water! She had searched Tol Cobas for water.

His command sent the cabin boy running, and in no time the lad returned with a wooden dipper. Taking it from him, Imrahil addressed the girl. "Come, lass. Drink. But slowly, or you'll be sick."

She nodded and grabbed the dipper, gulping down a mouthful hastily.

"Slowly, I said!" Encircling her hands that held the vessel, he forced her to stop. "Take one sip and then pause to breathe."

For a moment something flashed in those dark eyes and he expected her to protest, but then she merely nodded. Keeping her hands in his, he let her have another gulp, then drew her hands towards his chest, forcing her to pause again before allowing her to drink some more. Goodness, for how long must she have been without water, and in the heat of Úrime to make things worse!

When the dipper was emptied, he gently took her elbow to lead her to the awning the sailors had set up midship for the expected celebrations. She was rather short but after one first hesitant step, she lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Imrahil suppressed a grin. A rather impressive attitude for such a little robin, fallen out of her nest. All of a sudden she stumbled and instinctively his hand went to her waist to support her. Quite a pronounced waist, he automatically registered and a nice piece of hip arching just below. He felt her trembling and tightened his grip. "Steady, lass. Come, sit down in the shade."

Carefully lowering her, until she sat on the planks, a convenient cask supporting her back, he could not help to notice her bare feet and ankles, as well as the empty sheath strapped around her calf. All spoke of a woman out fishing, but there was something utterly wrong, though he could not grasp what it was.

"Thank you, my Lord. I'm sorry for causing you such inconvenience, but I have to admit I'm feeling slightly enfeebled."

Imrahil stared. The voice was still raspy but there was no trace of the desperate weakness it had held only moments before. And her wording and accent were no way those of a fisher wench. A grin spread over his face. This certainly was something worth exploring. Crouching down before her, he gave her features an inquiring look and to his surprise and delight found his gaze returned stubbornly. Goodness, this girl was the incarnation of a challenge! Her chin raised, her finely arced eyebrows drawn together in a frown, she stared back at him with the pride of a Númenórean queen. Though otherwise there was nothing Númenórean about her. Her features, her build had nothing in common with the narrow-faced, slender beauties he had met both in Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. She rather reminded him... He hesitated. Could it really be, could the girl in front of him really have Haradrim blood? Her skin certainly was too fair for that. And anyway, there was enough time to find out later. First of all the girl had to eat and drink some more.

"Captain." Maeron's voice broke into his musings. "A word, if you please."

Imrahil rose. "Have some food, lass and some rest. We'll talk later."

Trying to suppress his annoyance at the interruption, he walked up to his first mate. "Well, what things are that important that they cannot wait?"

Maeron shrugged and then said in a low voice. "Let's go aft, Imrahil. I have to show you something."

They walked towards the captain's cabin and Imrahil noticed the tightness in his friend's shoulders. He clenched his teeth, feeling quite sure that he didn't want to hear what his friend had to say. As soon as they had closed the door behind them, Maeron slew round.

"For Uinen's sweet mercy, Imrahil. Can't you for once keep the blood in your brains, seeing a delectable female?"

"So you admit she's delectable?" Ignoring his friend's annoyed face, Imrahil went to the small wall-cabinet and took out a flagon and two finely worked cut-glass cups. "Sit down, Maeron and have a hit." Seeing his friend bristle, he shook his head. "Maeron, please, trust me. I admit that she's intriguing, but that doesn't make me blind to everything else. I know as well as you that it is vitally important to find out how she comes to be here." He poured each of them a good two fingers breadth of brandy and handed one glass to his friend. "And I _did_ notice that her attire and her bearing do not go too well together."

With a grunt Maeron took a gulp. "The men say she claims to be a fisher woman from Langstrand having lost her bearings due to bad weather some days ago."

"And?"

Maeron put down the cup. "The bosun swears the boat is not from Anfalas but rather from somewhere around. The rigging differs slightly further up the coast. And the weather has been fine for at least a week."

Imrahil shrugged. "Over here. There could well have been a storm further west."

Maeron snorted. "Sure. As sure as they had a south-westerly wind at that part of the coast and only here at Cobas Haven it decided to become a steady north-easterly."

Imrahil laughed. "Well, so we agree that Anfalas is out of the game. What else?"

"She carried a diving knife. The usual stuff our fishermen and sponge divers carry, but nothing they use further west." He turned to something beside the low table, and only now did Imrahil notice the bundle wrapped in oilcloth and the sturdy canvas bag. Maeron opened the latter, took out a knife and held it out to his friend and captain. "And then there was this."

Beholding the blade, Imrahil gave a low whistle. It was a throwing knife. He took it, weighing it carefully on his palm. Not even as long as his hand, it felt heavy and solid. Handle and blade were blackened and bore no embellishments. He twirled it, and with a twist of his wrist, threw it into the beam beside the door. It bit deep and stuck, vibrating almost imperceptible. He snacked his lips. "Quite a killing tool in the right hands."

"She had it strapped to her arm, hidden by the tunic." Maeron's voice was hard, but then he shrugged. "To be fair, she handed it over the moment the bosun asked her if she carried any weapons, but if you ask me that doesn't make her less of a possible assassin."

A possible assassin! Imrahil snorted. "Take it down a notch, will you? We don't even know if she is really able to wield it."

"And how do you plan to find out? Invite her to puncture your guts?"

"How can she, as the bosun obviously confiscated her knives?" One gaze at his friend's scowl told him to rein in his taunt. More than probable Maeron was right at least in some aspects. He gazed at the bag, wondering what other nasty surprises it might reveal. Why couldn't a nice and cuddly lass... He checked himself. She had not really been cuddly at all, but rather proud and challenging. She had just felt so bloody good under his hands. And a challenge was something he had never shrunk from. Downing his brandy, he set the cup aside. "Well, as I guess that her belongings are in that sack, let's have a look and try to find out some more about our alluring flotsam."

Sitting himself in one of the two low chairs, Maeron started to unwrap the oilcloth. Inside was nothing but a light sleeping-roll, though Imrahil noticed that when unfolded, the oilcloth would be large enough to cover a sleeper from rain or sea spray. He examined the items carefully, but found nothing out of the way. He stifled a sigh of annoyance. Why couldn't the dratted girl be just that: simply a girl. Putting bed-roll and cover on the floor, Maeron started to unpack the contents of the bag. The first thing was a towel, rolled up neatly around a piece of soap and a small earthenware jar. Reaching for it, Imrahil opened the lid. The jar contained a whitish powder, and a sniff confirmed his assumption. Wordlessly he held out the open jar to his friend. Maeron's eyebrows rose.

"Can you tell me what the heck a fisherman carries tooth powder for when fishing?"

"Fisher-woman," Imrahil corrected him. He couldn't say that he was opposed to women who kept their teeth clean and their breath sweet. But he knew better than to tell his friend anything along those lines.

Said friend grimaced. "There is no doubt about her being female. One just has to observe your reaction." Motioning with his thumb at the dagger still sticking in the beam, he added: "But this is no tavern affair, Imrahil."

Not bothering to answer, Imrahil took out another roll of fabric. It turned out to be a brown linen dress and a dark green kirtle to go with it. The garments were unadorned and looked quite plain, as did the sturdy leather sandals Maeron had fished out of the bag in the meantime.

"Simple and practical." The first mate grinned. "At least these confirm the fisher-woman."

Imrahil shook his head. "I'm afraid you are wrong. Just have a closer look at the quality of the fabric. It's much better than anything a simple fisher would be able to afford. And the seams... They are worked expertly."

Maeron snorted. "Goodness, Imrahil. If I didn't know better, I would take you for a nancy. The quality of fabric and seams!"

Imrahil shrugged. "Even a dolt like you would know if you had two sisters who constantly dragged you down to the harbour to accompany them every time a merchant craft berthed." He grimaced. "Well, and then there is this green. As Ivriniel told me, it is rather difficult to dye plant fibres a really dark green. That's why most green fabric you find on the market will be wool." He gave the kirtle another look before he put it on the table. "I dare say this _simple_ dress was quite expensive."

With a look that clearly said _told you so,_ Maeron emptied the contents of a smallish linen pouch on the table.

"What's that?" Imrahil frowned as he reached for one of the narrow, neatly folded strips of fabric.

Maeron's lips curled in disdain. "The proof that whatever our _guest_ is, she was not out fishing but instead well prepared for a longer voyage."

Imrahil turned the strip uncomprehending, causing his friend to snort. "That are rags, dimwit."

"Rags?"

Maeron grimaced. "That obviously is an aspect one doesn't learn through having sisters." He stuffed the strips back into the pouch. "That's the things women use when they have their monthly flow. You had better get married, Imrahil son of Adrahil to learn the things that really matter."

Imrahil snorted. "I have no notion of competing with your seven months old wisdom on married life, Maeron son of Daeron. The woman _I_ shall marry has to be special."

That seemed to have stung, for Maeron frowned angrily. "I assure you that Gwinwen _is_ special to me." His frown slightly ebbing away, he added: "But as far as I know you, you are only waiting for some woman you can top Dol Amroth's last scandal with."

Imrahil chuckled. "Oh, come on. I don't exactly dote on Denethor, no matter what Finduilas says, but I simply loved it when he snatched my sister away from under Thólinnas' nose."

Maeron gave him a wry glance. "Is it true that your father privately celebrated upon learning that the Steward's son had crossed Pelargir's plans?"

Grabbing the canvas bag, Imrahil bared his teeth in a rakish grin. "You doubt it?"

The bag was almost empty by now, holding nothing more than a flat satchel, a tiny wooden box and a leather purse, tied close with a string. Unknotting it, Imrahil poured the contents on the table: a handful of small coins, all of them silver. He looked at his friend and grimaced. "Quite a well-off fisher-lass, isn't she?"

Frowning, Maeron checked the coins. All were of Gondorean minting, some new and still shining, others already dulled by time and there even were two from Turgon's reign. He shook his head. "What do you make of that?"

Looking as innocent as possible, Imrahil shrugged. "Family savings? Perhaps her dowry?" Seeing his friend's critical mien, he grinned. "We can ask her, can't we?"

With an angry grunt, Maeron reached for the satchel, but when he opened it, he whistled with surprise. Before them lay a tidily folded map and below it a stack of excellent vellum and three well-prepared quills. Already knowing what he would find in the box, Imrahil opened it nevertheless, revealing the expected inkpot. And what an inkpot! Surprised, he stared at the fine glass vial, closed with a silver stopper. Wordlessly he shoved the thing over to give Maeron a closer look. "If that girl is anything close to a fisher-lass, I'm a salt cod."

 **Annotations:**

 **Úrime:** (Quenya) approximately August (úrië: heat)

 **to tack; tacking:** Tacking is a sailing maneuver by which a sailing vessel (which is sailing approximately into the wind) turns its bow into the wind through the 'no-go zone' so that the direction from which the wind blows changes from one side to the other.

 **Falas:** (Sindarin) surf-line, sea-shore

 **dromond:** A dromond (from Greek δρόμων, _dromōn_ , "runner") was the most important type warship in the Mediterranean from the 5th to 12th centuries AD

Thanks for their support and advice go to Annafan, Artura, Gwynnyd, Lialathuweril, Sian22 and Willow 41z from the"Garden", to Ygrain33, who never failed to encourage me, and especially to Lady Bluejay who kindly helped me with the language. Her beta reading spared me a lot of embarrassment.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for reading and for your feedback; it is very much appreciated.

You are certainly right, dear Anon, though I would not regard your remark as a spoiler, but it was in the 40-chapter monster, not in the 45-chapter one! ;D

Special thanks go to Annafan, Artura, Lialathuveril and Sian22 from the "Garden" for their discussion and to LadyBluejay, the most kind and helpful beta-reader one can have.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **Sailing the Waters of Distrust**

Popping the last morsel of creamy sheep's cheese into her mouth, she reached for the dented pewter cup the cabin boy had brought her together with a jug filled with fresh water. What bliss to be able to drink to one's heart's content without having to stint oneself, fearing the heat of the coming day. She sighed and adjusted the moistened rag one of the sailors had told her to put on her nape when he had brought her a wooden pail to wash the biting salt off her hands and face, a thing she was twice thankful for, as it had enabled her to wipe away the embarrassing traces of her tears.

She leaned back against the barrel, and closing her eyes for a moment, she let the feeling of lazy content that came will a filled stomach wash over her. Safe! _But was she really?_ Turning the cup in her hands, she tried to sort out her thoughts. With a sigh, she put down the cup. It was futile. There was a reason her grandfather had told her more than once that she was quite a failure at strategic thinking and on top of that she still felt dazed.

Not that she doubted or regretted the actions she had taken a single moment, but the given situation was something that seemed so unreal. Of all people who could have caught her it had to be Imrahil, heir of Dol Amroth, the only place on all the Falas where a lord sat who might be inclined to thwart Thólinnas plans. _Might,_ she called herself to order. And did she really want to oblige Prince Adrahil to side against Pelargir? Denethor to be sure would not be pleased at all.

She took another gulp. Her plan had been to simply get away as fast as possible from Tolfalas, from her parents who she felt had betrayed her, and from that disgusting man who saw nothing in her but the flea he had to accept in the fleece he wanted to appropriate. Thoughtfully she let her fingers trail the dents of the cup. For how long had that vulture been lying in wait for her grandfather's death to put out his greedy claws for the rich isle just in front of his doorstep? Her mouth twisted with disgust. Who knew, if his late wife had really died from childbed fever after giving birth to their second daughter?

No – she checked herself – it was certainly unjust to accuse the man of murdering his wife, but she didn't trust him as far as she could spit. And neither had Grandfather. The sudden longing for the old man who had been her teacher and guardian through all her childhood was more than she could cope with, and slinging her arms around her pulled-up knees, she buried her face in the crook of her arm. She would not let anyone see her new tears and take her for some silly drama queen.

It was bad enough that she had been so flustered and distraught when the sailors had come to get her. Remembering her confused answers to their questions - who she was and how she had ended up on the islet - made her cringe with embarrassment. Hopefully they would pin it on the lack of water she had suffered from, though that in itself was just as embarrassing. She must really look a fine specimen of a brainless chicken to them.

And then to have her humiliation even sharpened by that captain! Imrahil of Dol Amroth. What a conceited, arrogant, supercilious sod! Taking a deep breath, she dried her damp eyes with the cuff of her tunic. How could he dare to order her about like that, not to say anything about touching her with such a taken-for-grantedness! It had only been the fear she had been through, the lack of water that had made her feel so…cared for when those strong, warm hands had clasped hers. But what business did he have to clasp her waist like that! And no, it didn't matter that she had given him an excuse with that cursed stumbling! She bit her lips. How could it be that she had felt so... She angrily shook her head. How silly to allow her emotions to run away with her. It had been nothing but the high and mighty heir of Dol Amroth lowering himself to treat the fishing-lass jovially!

She clenched her fists. How good it felt to be angry and aggressive instead of bewildered and intimidated. Pressing her lips into an angry line, she launched the next imaginary blow. The git certainly more than deserved it. He probably expected her to feel dazed by those dratted sea-grey eyes and jump into his bunk the moment he did as much as wink at her. As if it didn't take anything but some friendly words, a little care and warm hands on a woman's body to make her melt. How she wished to have her throwing knife and give him a good stab in one of his princely buttocks! She sighed. It was only too well she had handed the blade to that sour looking sailor. At least it kept her out of even more trouble.

Trouble? She was already in it up to her neck. What should she tell the prince once he came back? Was it really safe to disclose the truth to him? If she only didn't feel that confused! And why had that nuisance to turn round and shoot her a last glance before opening the door to what had to be the captain's quarters? Why did he have to look so bloody attractive in that billowing shirt, strapped tight at his midriff by a broad sash? A sash he surely only wore because he knew how it accentuated the narrowness of his hips compared to the width of his shoulders. And the pretentious, show-off way he carried his dagger in just that sash! With an angry grunt she sat up. Goodness, she was as pathetic and gooey as the sail maker's wife at home, who had met Imrahil in a tavern once when she had been a lass and now did not loose any opportunity to gush about how smashing a hunk of man he was. She bit her lip. How old was he? She grimaced. Probably twice her age, given what her grandfather had told about him. Though that would make him almost twenty years younger than that grocer from Pelargir.

She had to get that idiot out of her mind and think about what to do. Supporting herself with one hand on the barrel she rose, satisfied that the dizziness seemed to have lessened. Taking the cup with her, she moved to the starboard side of the ship to have a look about but was cautious to stay in the shade of the awning.

Up on the rocky slopes she saw groups of men, searching the island for the companions they supposed her to have and she also spotted some having taken up posts on the spurs that formed the harbour. She bit her lip. It was obvious that the prince did not trust her. And why was he here, with what obviously was a captured Umbarian war ship? Certainly not for a beach party. Imrahil of Dol Amroth had more than earned the reputation of a ferocious corsair hunter. Perhaps he had been planning some action against the corsairs and she had popped up in his secret lair?

The tidal current in the deep channel was dying down now, the surface turning to a treacherously peaceful image of smooth blues and greens, sparkling with the reflections of the rays of the sun. Sea and sun... So cool, so glorious, and so bitter and cruel at the same time. Unbidden the image of grey eyes came to her mind, eyes the colour of the stormy sea.

"Looking out for your accomplices?" The snidey voice in her back caused her to turn. It was the officer who had spoken, his face a grimace of disdain. Unsure what exactly he meant, she shot a quick glance at the prince standing at his side, but his mien did not give away anything. She swallowed.

"Accomplices? I don't know what you are talking about."

"Don't you now?" His voice dripped with cutting irony. "Well, how should you, being but a fishing-lass from Langstrand who lost her bearings in a storm that never blew. Or perhaps sailing against the wind all the way from Anfalas confused your mind a bit?" He laughed sardonically. "Did you really think we wouldn't cast a look at your luggage?"

 _Bother! Why had she not thought about that?_ But that clot would not intimidate her that easily. She raised her chin. "I assure you I can explain everything and..."

"What's your name?"

The calm, almost casual question threw her off course. Opening her mouth, she stared at the prince, cursing the heat of the blush that she felt creeping into her face. "Aer...Aerwen, my lord."

She realised her mistake at once, seeing the tightening of his yaws. One simply didn't hesitate like that when asked for one's name. And why in Morgoth's name had she not simply told the truth? It seemed as if only now she had truly lost her bearings.

"What a nice name." Again it was that dratted officer who spoke. "Aerwen." He sneered. "Well, perhaps I have a better fitting one for you, sweetie. What do you think about Spy?"

"What?" She almost squeaked with surprise. How could he...? Out of their own volition her eyes sought the prince's face, but it was unreadable again. She licked her lips. "I'm no spy. I swear. I can explain everything, I..."

The officer snorted. "And you really think we have nothing to do but to listen to a new pile of lies you are trying to sell us? Did you really think your Haradric origin showed so little in your pretty face? Your employers certainly felt too sure of that."

In a split second her surprise and fear turned into blazing, all consuming fury. "You bloody, stinking piece of shark bait! How dare you..." She had to gulp for air. "Yes, one of my ancestors was from Umbar, ages ago. Gondor's king himself called him his trustworthy ally, and you drowned rat..."

"Enough." The prince's calm voice cut her short. "We have no time for your ranting, girl. I want the truth, and I want it now."

All of a sudden she realised that she was trembling. Anxiety, exhaustion, uncertainty and the unbelievable accusation on top were simply too much. She heaved a breath. "I'll tell you the truth, my lord. I swear, I'll answer any of your questions. But in private." His eyebrows shot up with surprise, but quickly he had his features under control again.

"In private?"

She swallowed. "Yes, my lord." Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at the officer's grim face. "And I'll leave it to you what you think your subordinates need to know of it."

Imrahil grinned at his officer. "Seems we caught a sting-ray the way she lashes out." He gave her an appraising look. "Well, lass, you shall have your chance. We'll talk in my cabin. But do not expect you can gull me. Come."

Without another word he turned and retreated to the stern, leaving her no choice but to follow behind. Her thoughts were in uproar like a shoal of sardines, scattered by a hunting dolphin. _What had she got herself into?_

They had reached the cabin door, when the officer spoke up again. "One moment." His voice was cold and she bristled at the underlying contempt. "Remove your headscarf."

"What?"

"Your headscarf, girl."

The insolent sod! She knew only too well that a refusal would not gain her anything, but she would not comply with his command without showing him what she thought of him. If the idiot meant to be condescending, two could play the game. Giving him an annoyed glare down her nose, she unwound the scarf with accentuated slowness before placing the length of it over her shoulder.

With unexpected swiftness his hand shot out and plucked the long, massive hairpin from her bun, sending her hair tumbling down her back before she could as much as protest.

Behind her, she heard the prince chuckle. "What a fearless strike, Maeron. You certainly saved me from being stabbed to an ignoble death with a hairpin."

She seethed with anger. Those two certainly competed for being the most annoying ass on the ship. She slew round, her hair billowing out, ready to give the conceited princeling a piece of her mind... And stopped dead, staring into a pair of sea-grey eyes. Fighting the blush that heated her face, she averted her gaze, pretending to be busy tucking some wayward strands of hair behind her ears. Uinen's sweet mercy, how could a man's eyes resemble the very depth of Ossë's stormy realm?

And then there was a whisper, low and breathless and almost inaudible. "Oh friend, I'm not sure if you really did me a favour."

Only when she crossed the threshold of the captain's cabin did she realise that he had spoken Sindarin, obviously not wanting her to understand.

The first thing she noticed in the dim light of the cabin was the contents of her bag, spread out on the low table. Bugger, how could she have so absolutely forgotten about them? But then, what could she have done, save come out with the truth at once? He certainly had to understand the circumstances.

"Sit!"

The detached tone added to the insult of the brusque order and for a split second she felt tempted to give him a lecture on the value of politeness, but then thought better of it. If he really believed her to be a Haradric spy she had better be careful. Gingerly she sat in the chair he pointed at, immediately realising that it meant her face would be in the beam of sunlight coming in through the small transom windows while she could hardly make out his face as he sprawled in the chair opposite her. The bastard! She wetted her lips nervously. He obviously meant to grill her, so she had better make this short. Sitting as straight as possible, she raised her hands in an apologetic motion. "Look, I know it was stupid to tell your men I was from Anfalas. I..."

He did not let her finish. "If you know, why did you do it?"

She felt like groaning with frustration. Couldn't he imagine what it had been like for her? She did not even try to keep the annoyance out of her voice when she answered. "I was confused. And frightened, too. How could I know the colours and the name of the ship were no ruse? Even a dimwit can see it's an Umbarian dromond, and I expected corsairs the moment I saw it." He did not answer. If only she could make out his face to judge his mien, but that dratted sunlight only made her blink. Grudgingly, she plodded on. "Anfalas was the only thing that came to my mind as it was where I wanted to go." She winced, noticing how lame that sounded.

Her opposite gave a dry laugh. "You've realized your mistake concerning the wind by now? Girl, how could you be so stupid as to make such an obvious blunder? And to tell it to sailors!" All of a sudden he leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers with a menacing glare. "So where have you come from, if not from Umbar?"

She could not help feeling intimidated. That man certainly could be dangerous if he meant to and at the moment he did not seem to be inclined to believe anything she said. She swallowed and cursed the brittleness of her voice when she finally answered. "From Tolfalas."

"From Tolfalas." He snorted. "You obvious learned your lesson." And then, without a warning, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "Stop dishing out fabrications, girl. I warned you."

It hurt, but strangely enough she felt hit harder by his persistent mistrust and the hard stare of his eyes. Angrily, she tried to shake him off. "I'm telling the truth. I started to sail four days ago from Hyalma near the south-western cape."

Letting go of her wrist, he leaned back, his features again dimmed by the shade. "How did you get there?"

 _I flew, you dolt!_ She was grateful she had the wit not to say that aloud. But how could this man get on her nerves like this? For a moment she fancied kicking his shins, his long and straight legs being the only part of his figure she could make out clearly. Sullenly she said: "By horse till Neltil and then on foot down to the bay."

She imagined she could hear the gnashing of his teeth before he spit out his answer. "Don't take me for a fool! How did you get to Tolfalas? And where from?"

"I was born there!"

Again there came a scornful snort from the shadows, adding more fuel to her wrath. The idiot should have been born a herring hog given the sounds he made!

"So it's the fisher lass from Tolfalas instead of Langstrand now?" His voice sounded almost bored.

She hesitated. Now things would get really difficult. "Well, not exactly. I'm no fisher woman."

"And how did you get the boat?"

She felt like strangling him, just to shut off that poised, languid voice. "I stole it." She knew he would not believe her before she had even finished her sentence.

"You stole it?"

Yet there seemed to be more surprise than distrust in his voice, and seeing a slight chance, she hurried to amplify. "Yes, from old Limdir in Hyalma. I'm sorry I did, but I had to. There was no chance I could make away with any other boat unnoticed."

He did not say anything, and strange enough she found his silence more disturbing than his gruff remarks and questions. As if having pinched the old fisher's boat did not weigh on her conscience enough already! How could a single man be so irritating! She nervously turned a strand of her hair around her finger. "I know I should not have done it. He's old, and he lives all alone, some way outside the village, where there is a rocky outcrop like a small, natural jetty. That's the reason he's the only one who keeps his boat moored. I know because we often visited him when Grandfather was still alive. All the others at Hyalma pull their boats ashore. And then there is the fact that his dogs know me."

He seemed to ponder her answer and when he finally spoke again, though his voice was cool, there was no sneer in it. "So you want me to believe you stole the boat all alone and then thought you could sail it single-handedly to Anfalas."

Men! As if only they knew about sailing! She clenched her fists. "That's exactly what I did! I know how to sail as well as any fisherman. And I can read charts."

He leaned forwards, taking up one of the quills to fiddle around with them with pointed-out carelessness. "Who taught you?"

"My grandfather."

With a mirthless laugh, he threw the quill back on the table. "He seems to have been a very resourceful man, that grandfather of yours."

That insolent cove! Straightening her shoulders, she glared at the shadows that hid his face again. "You have no right to sneer at him. Nobody has!" It felt good to find one's own voice at least as determined and condescending as his. She would not let anybody, even a prince, slander her grandfather.

He did not counter at once, but just as she was starting to feel she had scored a hit, his next question caught her unawares.

"Who are you?"

She swallowed, knowing he would not believe her. "Gelíris of Tolfalas, granddaughter of Admiral Aerandir.

He gave another one of the dismissive snorts she had come to loath. "Pull the other one, girl. I knew the old Admiral and I spent part of my training under his command."

As if she didn't know that! Though it had been at least twelve years ago, if she remembered her grandfather's remarks correctly, the tongues at least of Tolfalas' womenfolk were still wagging about the _dashing young heir_ of Dol Amroth _._ But perhaps him knowing the Admiral was a chance, a way she could prove to that stubborn blockhead in front of her that she told the truth. She eagerly leaned forwards. "Why don't you believe me? Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

Impatiently, she threw back her hair. "Anything. You say you have been on Tolfalas. You must know the place, must know about my grandfather's habits. Ask me about those things."

"And what would that prove? Any clever servant could know the most intimate things of both the place and the lord, and if not at first hand, gossip will always fill the gaps."

 _A servant!_ Was he not slowly getting bored by his own condescension? She felt like pulling her hair. Or better his. It was just a pity that his black strands were so tightly pulled back into a queue at the nape of his neck. That would make it quite difficult to get her fingers into them. And certainly the spiv only wore his hair like that because he knew how favourably it brought out his features! Staring at him in the haughtiest way she could manage, she pulled out the finely worked silver chain she was wearing round her neck, unfastened the signet ring from it and held it out to him on her palm. "And what does this make me in your eyes?"


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for all the reviews; they are all appreciated but some really made me giggle. ;)

Well, Anon: Her comes the answer to you assumption. Seems that great minds really think alike. ;)

This chapter will just be a short one, but I hope you'll enjoy reading nevertheless.

Special thanks go to the ladies of the "Garden" for their encouragements and to Lady Bluejay who beta-ed my story.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **Hidden Currents**

Imrahil took the ring and carefully examined it. There was no doubt! It was old Admiral Aerandir's seal. But she would not take him in that easily. Holding the ring into the light, he said in the most condescending drawl: "What does this make you in my eyes? A _thieving_ servant."

She jumped up as if someone had lit Mordor's fires under her chair and for a split second Imrahil found it hard not to laugh. That glare! And that posture! He slowly clenched his fists around the ring. Could it be that she was telling the truth? Her way of speaking no doubt sported the refined pronunciation of a noble and there was just a hint of the softer intonation of the consonants that was typical of Tolfalas... She had to be a damned good actress to pull off something like that. But it was so unbelievable...

He had seen the Admiral's granddaughter only once, twelve or rather fourteen years ago when he had stayed for a summer on Tolfalas right at the beginning of his training in the navy. All he remembered was a lively, chubby toddler, diving like a little seal under the Admiral's doting eyes in the tidal ponds near the old man's summer house. Already then Aerandir had been in his late eighties but hale and clear of mind, except for his fathomless infatuation with his son's little girl. But then what could one expect after four stillborn grandchildren and Valar know how many miscarriages? Appraisingly he looked the girl in front of him over. There was no chance he would be able to find any traces of that toddler in that angry face. Except perhaps the hair. He remembered a mop of auburn hair, billowing around the diving child's head like a russet jellyfish.

He stared at the wild tangles, gleaming like fresh, ripe chestnuts in the shaft of light that fell through the window. Curse Maeron for removing that bloody headscarf! As if it wasn't distracting enough to deal with this minx without that additional temptation! No doubt she had been sure of herself when she had demanded to speak him in private. The way she had sat there, straight as a poker, her shoulders squared... She obviously knew only too well how that caused the coarse linen of the plain tunic to tauten across her quite ample breasts, accentuating them in a rather tantalizing way.

He only realized that he had been staring at her like a mute fool for quite a while when the girl crossed her arms in front of said breasts and started to tap her foot.

"Why don't you give me a chance? Why do you shrug off everything as a lie, even before I have said it?"

Alarmed, he realised that he was wavering, wanting to believe her. Curse the wench, he was stultifying himself! He forced himself to chuckle. "Girl, you being Gelíris of Tolfalas is just a bit too tall a story. What reason should the lord's daughter have to flee the island?"

With a snort she threw up her hands. "That Thólinnas of course."

"Thólinnas of Pelargir?"

"Well, I know of no other and I hope there isn't a second one."

Imrahil frowned, both at her words and at her snappish tone. True, the man wasn't the nicest specimen of mankind, and he could very well sympathise with everybody who didn't like him, but to flee from him? That was pure nonsense. Perhaps he should be glad that her story was simply too absurd. Otherwise that hussy might really have won him over. He leaned back again with a sneer.

"So why was he after you? Did you steal his silverware?"

"No, you..." She swallowed the last word, suddenly giving him a rather insecure glance. "He..." She hesitated, and then spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "He wants to marry me."

That was just ridiculous! Ten years ago Thólinas had wanted to marry Finduilas, Imrahil's elder sister, and the man been at least a decade older than Finduilas. Did this chit take him for a complete idiot? He decided to show the girl her place. Giving it the air of an unrelated note, he asked: "How old are you, child?"

She bristled, as if stung by a wasp. "I'm no child."

 _As if he didn't know only too well._ He suppressed a grimace. Things would be so much easier if she were. And she radiated such self-confidence the way she stood there in more than simple garb but with such a posture...

Still scowling at him she stated: "I'll be seventeen in autumn."

He couldn't help a true grin. "Just wait a decade and you won't be so eager to add a year to your age." The blush that crept into her cheeks was really a nice sight. And it would even be nicer to check how far down it went. He called himself to order. How old was Thólinnas now? Around fifty, he guessed, and not the most sanguine character. He shook his head. Even if she was who she claimed to be, a flight from an unwanted marriage to Thólinnas was simply nonsense. "So you want me to believe the old codger tried to get something luscious into his bed and you gave him the slip?"

She had the impertinence to roll her eyes. "No. You don't understand. He's not after _me_. What he wants is the isle."

"What?" It took all his willpower not to gape.

"We keep the old Númenórean law on Tolfalas, and with me being the lord's only child..."

"I know that." Uinen forbid that her rambles were starting to make sense! The old law... More than one of the old Houses along the Falas kept the ancient laws of the sunken realm, entitling women to inherit in case there was no direct male heir to take up rulership. And the lord of Tolfalas had but one daughter... He felt his conviction start to crumble. Feeling at a loss, he stared at the ring. "But how can you say that he doesn't want you? Every man in his right mind..." He did not finish his sentence, realising just in time what he was about to say. Fortunately she did not seem to notice his slip, but started to pace to and fro with visible agitation. He swallowed a curse. Was she truly not realising that thus more than just her face moved? But when she finally spoke, her voice did not hint at anything but sheer anger.

"I met him, little more than a year ago, when Grandfather took me to the festivities at Pelargir. The sod didn't exchange any word above what was absolutely necessary with me. And he looked at me as if I was something that had just crawled out from under a stone."

With rising alarm he found that the situation was getting out of control. Not only was he starting to believe her, but he found that he wanted to believe her, no matter that her story was becoming more unbelievable every moment. He clenched his fist and felt the signet ring digging into his palm. What if she told the truth? He had to keep a level head. Maeron would howl if he could see him. Forcing his voice to casualness, he asked: "So Thólinnas' plan of marriage doesn't agree with you?"

She slew round and with an angry motion shoved some tangles out of her face. "What do you take me for? A wet piece of seaweed?"

He knew better than telling her what expressions crossed his mind, wet seaweed absolutely certain not being one of them. He had to slow this down to get his bearings.

"Sit."

She only glared at him.

He sighed. "Please."

Reluctantly, she moved towards the chair and then, with an insecure side-glance at him, pulled it out of the light and sat down. The table was between them now and to his genuine surprise he realised that he felt quite relieved at the convenient barrier. He leant back again, flaunting an easiness he did not feel. "Now let's start from the beginning."

She nodded obediently and then started to talk, her fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of her tunic. "I don't know when my parents had arranged my marriage with Thólinnas. They informed me but a week ago that the engagement was to take place in Narquelië, as soon as possible after Grandfather's death. It took me two days to plan and prepare everything, and then I made off."

Was it really making sense, or had his good judgement already gone to feed the fish? Imrahil fought to keep his tone casual. "Why so sudden?"

"They told me he would be coming to Tolfalas to sign the marriage contract within the week. An official engagement would not have been possible because of the required period of mourning, but he wanted the contract." Her face twisted in a contemptuous grimace. " A merchant likes to be sure of his preemption, you know. As if I was nothing but a commodity." She stopped, visibly too furious to continue and then shrugged. "Well, probably I am to him. Grandfather despised him, he would never have allowed..." Her voice broke, and with alarm Imrahil saw her eyes moisten.

Morgoth's balls! No tears now! That would certainly be his ruin. He needed to keep her talking. Clearing his voice, he tried to get their conversation back to the facts. "But what do you think you could achieve with your flight? Sooner or later Thólinnas would have found out where you are."

She passed the back of her hand over her eyes and nodded. "I know. I meant to get away as far as I could sail in Gondorean waters and I counted on the scandal and the fact that he would lose face if he married me after such an escapade."

Imrahil frowned. Given that she was telling the truth and she really was the heiress of Tolfalas, would the threat of losing face really matter to a man like Thólinnas? If a fief as rich as Tolfalas was the prize? For some men even pride and honour had a price, and if that price was paid?

She must have seen his doubt but misread it, for she eagerly explained: "I know how to sail, and I knew where to get a boat. And a horse, too. I baited one of the messengers' horses my parents keep in the meadows close to Barlond with a bread crust as soon as it was dark and rode cross-country to Neltil.

"And the saddle?"

She gave him a haughty glare. "I need no saddle. And no stirrups either. And to hide a bridle in the brushwood near the meadows the day before was no task at all. I set the horse on the road back once I reached the bay and I'm sure it has trotted back to its manger without delay."

He wasn't sure if his voice would be sober enough, and so he nodded silently, fighting the image of shapely thighs clamped around the sides of a horse and full breasts, bobbing with the rhythm of the trot. Fortunately she continued, without noticing anything amiss.

"Well, and then I had to hurry to get the boat before dawn. Sailing was a bit slow at the beginning, but as soon as I got out of the lee of the island everything went just fine. Except that I miscalculated my chances of refilling my water supplies unseen."

What an idiotic plan! And a dangerous one, too. He shook his head. "You really meant to sail as far as Anfalas?"

She shrugged. "Nobody knows me there."

He grimaced. Could it really be that she meant what she said? "But you too don't know anybody there. Did you not think about the dangers you might face on such a voyage? It could have been somebody other than a bunch of Dol Amroth sailors who fished you up."

She had the decency to blush. "And what was I to do? Stay put and marry that..."

He sat up straight. "Would being married to some thuggish minor lord from Anfalas or Pinath Gelin really be better? Or being sold as a slave in Harad?"

She twisted her mouth. "Certainly not. But as I'm not afraid to die I would have found a way to prevent that. I know how to use a knife." The gaze she cast him was strange, so intense and steady, expressing a determination he could not but admire. "And anyway death would be preferable to the living death at the side of that monger."

He sighed. Ossë's balls, he was falling for a drama queen. "But if you simply had refused. Had told your parents that you..."

Her mirthless laugh stopped him. "And you think I didn't try that first? I may be young and a bit emotional sometimes, but I'm no fool and have no tendency to hysterics. I tried to make my parents see my point, but they would not listen. And then I remembered that Grandfather had always said that I'm guarded and blessed by Uinen, and so I decided to try my luck with the sea."

 _Blessed by Uinen_... He could not help a grin as the idea came to his mind. That certainly would be a way to find out at least if she really was nobility. "Do you know the Lay of the Falas?"

Her face showed nothing but artless surprise. "Why, everybody along the Falas knows it."

His grin deepening, he nodded. "Very well then. I'll tell you the first half of a line, and you'll finish it, and we'll see if you are what you claim to be." She probably was in for a nasty surprise, but at least the seemingly endless hours his tutors had tortured him with Quenya would be good for something.

 **Annotations:**

 _ **Narquelië:**_ _(Quenya)_ meaning "Sun-fading"; approximately our October

 **Falas :** (Sindarin) sea-shore


	4. Chapter 4

We will be very busy tomorrow, slaughtering sheep. Therefore I decided to post the next chapter one day early, lest I forget posting with all the chaos of work and feeding helping neighbours and friends.

I'd like to thank all of you who read, follow, favourite and review, and I hope you will enjoy the new chapter.

And I hope the rhythm still fits with your expectations, Anon, though things might get a bit fast. ;)

A big thank you also goes to the ladies of the "Garden" for their support, especially to **Lady Bluejay** for helping me with the language.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 **Tinder to the Flames**

"The laughter of storm in his heart..."

"Ossë roars with the waves."

Imrahil swallowed, feeling baffled and elated at the same time. Already seven lines from various different part of the lay she had finished without as much as a split second of hesitation and what was more in the most perfect and beautiful Quenya he had ever heard. He had always liked the language when the minstrels had sung it in the great hall of Dol Amroth no matter how much the beauty of the ancient Elvish tongue had been spoilt for him by his tutors who saw their utmost delight in dissecting its enticing flow with the scalpel of grammar, but never had he heard it spoken like this.

"But more than in storm and waves..."

"His wild heart delights in his spouse."

The words he knew so well seemed to take a deeper meaning, her low-pitched voice touching his very core. What a voice! So full, so rich, so sensual.

"The next one, my lord. Or have you already tired?"

That voice! Low, warm, filled with suppressed laughter.

"Tired?" He blinked, realizing that he had let his thoughts drift. Uinen's mercy! This woman was mightily getting under his skin. A wry grin crept onto his face. No doubt Maeron would blame his distraction on her being some kind of Black Númenórean sorceress when all enchantment was so easy to explain: He simply wanted her, whether she was Admiral Aerandir's granddaughter or some southern spy. And at the moment he was not sure which of the two possibilities would be the more serious problem.

Their eyes met and he felt his mouth go dry. Large, slightly slanted eyes, their warm dark brown flecked with golden spots around the pupil. To see those eyes haze over with desire... He tore his gaze away, biting back a curse. He was behaving like an infatuated stripling. He had to find out who she really was, not to reflect upon how he could get her into his bunk. He needed to pull himself together. Still not looking at her, he shrugged. "Your turn."

Without hesitation she recited the first half of the first line. "Through all waters under sky..."

He laughed. "Spread lies Uinen's hair. That's an easy one."

"Do you want a challenge?"

There was something in her voice, a mixture of laughter, mischief and daring that scattered his resolution to the four winds. He looked at her, and immediately he was mesmerized by sparkling dark eyes in an eager face. A face tilted towards him with anticipation, framed by unruly cascades of chestnut-coloured hair. Her lips were parted in a wide smile, revealing pearly white teeth. _Think of that dratted tooth powder, you bloody fool or you'll lose it!_ Instead of following through on that thought he stared at her lips. Full, but not fleshy, chaffed by sea and wind, cracked in one of the upturned corners. Without thinking, he reached for the fissure, touching it ever so lightly. Her mischievous smile died in a startled gasp.

Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. "You had better put some ointment on that, lest it worsens and gives you further trouble" Not waiting for her answer, he stood up and went to the wall cabinet, taking out the small earthen vessel of salve. "Here, apply this and it will heal nicely." He opened the jar and put it on the table between them, and she reached for it gingerly, her eyes averted, the pink tip of her tongue carefully feeling the crack in the corner of her lip.

He held his breath. Could that really be unintended? Probably not. But who for Morgoth's darkness was this girl? A courtesan trained to deal with nobility? But what if not? What if she really was ignorant of what she was doing to him? Doing to him now, as she dabbed her lips with the salve, blushing profoundly as she realised that he was observing her. Could anybody feign such innocence? He mentally kicked himself. If she was play-acting she certainly was dangerous and he had better keep his fingers off her, and the rest of his body too. But what if she told the truth? If she was the admiral's granddaughter as she claimed, she most certainly really was an innocent, unwittingly burning him alive. He suppressed a groan. Ossë himself could not have felt more tempted when Uinen had come to him. He should never have started with that damned lay. And yet...

"Thank you for your consideration, my lord. That salve really is soothing." Blushing even deeper, she shoved the jar across the table and with a nod he closed it and shoved it back.

"You had better keep it and apply it regularly until the fissure has healed." He was thankful that at least his voice sounded as casual as he wished. He had better think of something innocuous to ask before he started his examination again. Looking at her cracked lips, the idea sprung up in his mind.

"Would you like to drink something? A cup of wine? One from Tolfalas, if you fancy. "

She shook her head. "Just water, please. Your sailors were kind enough to give me plenty, but I'm afraid I still feel parched."

He had hoped she would ask for wine, giving him a chance to loosen her tongue, but who knew? If she really was who she claimed it might be for the better not to try to make her tipsy. He opened the cabin door, motioning to the first sailor who came into view. "Go and tell the cabin boy to fetch me a jug of fresh water. And tell the cook to send up some slices of watermelon."

"You have watermelons on board?" Her voice held a child's amazement, and when he turned round there was nothing left of the temptress and in her coarse garment and tussled hair she rather reminded him of a lost street urchin, staring at him with wide eyes. How must she have suffered in those days of thirst that the mentioning of a simple watermelon could make her gape? Something tore at his heart and all of a sudden the wish to give her everything she needed flooded him. He gritted his teeth and carefully heaved a breath. How could this slip of a girl turn him into such a besotted fool? If he only had a proof that she was who she claimed to be. She was so young... little more than a child, and yet if he was not careful she would hold him with the power of one of Uinen's mermaids.

A mermaid... Something in his mind caught. A child, diving in the tide pools. Why... And then recollection hit him like lightning. The "tick"! That wart or mole or whatever one would call it he had taken for a tick then and alerted the admiral to it, causing the old man to roar with laughter.

He felt afloat again. Barely managing not to grin from ear to ear, he let himself slump carelessly into the chair. "We have, as we plan to have a feast tonight. But there are enough for you to eat as many as you like and to your heart's content. And I have just realised how you can easily prove that you really are Admiral Areandir's granddaughter.

"Have you? Tell me, please." She was so eager to hear what he had to say she hardly managed to exercise any restraint.

Leaning towards her, he held her eyes. "Would you like to convince me?"

She blushed. "You said it was easy. So if I could... Yes, I would."

Keeping his face deadpan, he leaned back. "Very well. Then, just show me your birthmark."

With an outcry she jumped up, her face flushed scarlet, her left hand clutching her buttock.

Imrahil rose, fighting the urge to hoot with triumph. He took one step towards her, but she stepped back, shaking her head furiously.

"You... that..." She stopped, only now realising where her hand had gone and hastily removing it. Again she shook her head. "I cannot, you surely will understand. I..."

Smiling, he closed the short distance between them and took her hand. "Why can't you? It's easy, it won't hurt and it would be a conclusive proof."

He felt a bit guilty for the exhilaration with which he expected her excuses, her claiming decency and maidenly fears, which he was well prepared to ease, determined to get his way, but she only shook her head stubbornly and then mumbled, staring at her feet: "But it is so confoundedly ugly."

That was certainly not the reaction he had expected! Fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice, he tucked a strand of her unruly hair behind her ear. "That bad?" It was impossible to take his hand away, to stop stroking her hair, her cheek...and she did not flinch. Were his strained senses mocking him, or did she really lean into his caress? He breathed deep. This was madness! Sheer madness and he was going to savour it to the fullest.

She nodded, looking up into his face with those incredible dark eyes. "Worse. My mother even wanted the healers to cut it out, but they warned against such an action, lest I developed something the like on other parts of my body."

He playfully raised her hand to his lips, kissing every single one of her knuckles. Her hand twitched, but she made no attempt to pull it away. Smiling, he looked down at her. "But why do you worry? Who but your husband is ever going to see it?"

She heaved a breath, looking away pointedly. "Mother said I should insist on dousing the candles, but that... that thing is raised, and almost as big as a pea."

Smiling, he now kissed her fingertips. "Then it hasn't grown much since I last beheld it."

"You didn't!" Forcefully pulling her hand out of his, she took a step back, her dark eyes glowing with outrage.

How he loved that fire! And how tempting it was to raise her ire. Feigning nonchalance, he shrugged. "I did, some fourteen years ago, when the admiral used to invite me to spend my free time in his company and tell him about Dol Amroth."

She visibly was not sure what to make of his answer, but then she just let it be and shrugged. "So you know how ugly it is." He saw her clench her fists. How for Uinen's love could such a small thing like that damned mark bother her so profoundly?

As if she had sensed his unspoken question, she tried to explain. "It is so... so humiliating to have such a blemish. Can you imagine what..." She stuttered to a halt, giving him a doubtful glance. "I mean if I married. What would my husband do if he found out, if he spotted it?"

It cost him all his willpower not to laugh out loud. This girl... this woman... this incredible being of sea and sunshine! He caressed her blushing cheek. "I don't know what our friend Thólinnas would do, but as he is a rejected option he doesn't have to concern you. But I can tell you what _I_ would do."

"You...?"

Pulling her close, he let his hand wander down her back, till it cupped the buttock in question. "Yes, I." He felt her hands on his chest and for a split second feared that she would push him away, but instead her fingers stared to fumble the folds of his tunic. Good... He bent to her ear, kissing the glowing tip of it. "If _I_ were your husband, first I would look at it, envying it for the spot it sits. And then I would touch it, carefully, caressing it tenderly. And then I would kiss it, circling it with the tip of my tongue..." Her forceful push almost made him lose his balance.

"You wouldn't dare! You..." Struggling for words, she shook her head and then looked at him with what probably was meant to be an accusing frown but she did not manage entirely to mask the spark of curiosity and bewildered excitement lurking in her eyes. No, innocent or not, she certainly was not shy.

He playfully tugged at one of her strands. "Believe me, I have dared more than a pea-shaped appendage on a beautiful woman's stern. I..."

She swatted his hand away, but her eyes were laughing now. "Stop misunderstanding me purposefully, you oaf of a prince!"

Chuckling, he caught her in his arms, thrilled by the willingness with which she nestled against him. He kissed the crown of her hair. "I will, and anything else you want me to do."

ooooo

Suppressing a sigh, she huddled against his chest. How could someone feel safe and utterly vulnerable, confused and yet absolutely clear-headed at the same time? Strong, sinewy arms encircling her, his living body, his lips, tender and yet so demanding... Yes, that was what she wanted, what she had wanted from the very moment she had spotted him though she had not realised it then. She closed her eyes. How soothing his closeness was, and how disturbing at the same time.

As if through a haze she heard him murmuring endearments. How could a voice touch her like a sensual caress? Oh, that voice when he had started to recite the ancient lay! A mellow baritone, smooth and low, dangerous like a rip-tide. How could this be the same man who had called her a thief and spy only a moment ago? She gasped as his lips moved down her neck and instinctively tilted her head to give him better access.

"Falmarinya..."

She felt his lips brush the cracked corner of her mouth ever so lightly, the tip of his tongue tenderly trailing the outline of her lower lip. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer in a desperate wave of passion. And then there was nothing but their kiss that mattered.

Cocooned in a weave of passion she did not hear the knock at the cabin door and gasped with surprise and a spark of panic as the prince let go of her and rushed to the door to open it little more than a crack. Her knees felt like jelly and she was sure that anyone standing in front of the door would be able to hear the drumming of her heartbeat.

"Thank you, Bron, that will do."

She swallowed. How could his voice sound so sober all of a sudden? How could he be so unperturbed, so confoundedly self-confident whereas she felt shaken to her very core? Did embracing and kissing her like he had done mean nothing to him? She bit her lips, swallowing the bitter taste of disappointment.

Having taken a tray and a jug from the hands of the cabin boy, Imrahil closed the door and turned round to her with a smile.

"Come dear, have some of the melon. It will do you good."

Glowering at the heir of Dol Amroth who held out the tray to her invitingly, she crossed her arms in front of her breast. Curse that cockalorum! Did he really think he could ensnare her like a thirsty blackbird with those dratted slices of melon? Seeing that she did not move, he put the tray on the table, unsheathed his dagger and quickly cut the slices into smaller, bite-sized pieces. Smiling, he held one out to her on the tip of his dagger. She swallowed, realising how parched she still felt. How tempting that piece of fruit looked, how cool and juicy it would be, how sweet... She clenched her fists, furious at his mean way of baiting her and stubbornly shook her head.

With a shrug he popped the piece into his own mouth. "It's good, you know. Sweet and wonderfully cool."

Feeling the tears of impotent anger at her own weakness in her eyes, she turned her back on him. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and then she heard him round the table and walk up to her.

"Gelíris?" Standing behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. "What is it, dear? I'm sorry for the interruption but there certainly is no need to be upset. I simply had forgotten about my previous order and..."

Angrily she shrugged his hands off and slewed round on him. How good it felt to fly off the handle and silence the disturbing feeling of Morgoth knew what when the twerp was so close! "Oh, sorry about the interruption. Are you? Are you really sorry? But it didn't throw you off balance, did it?"

Slowly he shook his head. "No, it didn't. But your anger does, Gelíris, for I feel the hurt below its surface, though I swear I do not comprehend why you are hurt and angry." Taking her hands, he pulled her into him. "Tell me what ails you, dear. Tell me what I did to put you off."

She wished the ground would open and swallow her up. What an idiotic situation she had got herself into in her confused state of mind! No way would she admit that she had felt so terribly bereft, so cold and alone when he had let go of her to answer the door. And how idiotic to blurt it out like that! Glowing with embarrassment, she closed her eyes, hoping he would not insist on an answer.

To her utter relief he enfolded her in his arms instead and tenderly kissed her forehead. She lowered her head. How stupid to take out her anger on him, and anger based on her own self-consciousness, to make things worse! What else should he have done than to open the door and then get the boy to disappear again as quickly as possible? And had he not done so out of care for her? Had he not noticed her unrest and was he not trying to soothe her? And was that not what she wanted him to do? Yet it felt so belittling to see him so composed when her own mind felt so unfocussed and thrown into turmoil. Despite her contradictory feelings, she nestled into his chest, her hands sliding around his midriff as if they had a will of their own.

And then she gulped with surprise. Instead of the calm and steady heartbeat she had expected, her ear on Imrahil's chest caught a wild tattoo that reminded her of the sound of a galloping horse. Holding her breath, she listened. No, there was no doubt. No matter how composed he seemed outwardly, the throb was not the even pulse of an unconcerned man.

Pulling her even closer, he rested his cheek on the crown of her head. "My poor stray tern."

She could not help a snort. Tern! Looking up into his surprised face, she grimaced. "I appreciate the intended compliment, but I know that I rather resemble a puffin if any sea-bird at all."

Chuckling, he kissed her nose. "You must have sailed like they fly to have made it to Tol Cobas in that cockleshell of yours. And let me assure you, your nose lacks the puffin's colours. But puffin or tern, you should try that melon. It will certainly do you good after those days of thirst."

Keeping one arm around her waist, he led her to the chair and placed the plate in front of her. She swallowed, feeling her mouth water, and then she slowly took the first cube. It tasted even better than she had imagined and after a second of hesitation she reached for the plate, making short work of every single piece it held.

"Feeling better?" Pouring her some water into a silver-rimmed cup, he sat down in the other chair. She only nodded and drained the cup in one go.

"More?" With an inquiring look he raised the jug. She shook her head.

"No, thank you, my lord. That was really what I needed, though I have to admit I had not even thought about being thirsty before you mentioned those melons." She was not sure what it was that gleamed in his eyes at her remark, but it made her feel hot all over.

"There is thirst and thirst, Falmarinya. And need to drink deep in both cases."

His voice reminded her of the softness of a cat's fur. A black cat's. And she was sure it would set off sparks in the dark. Tiny hot flames that licked along her spine, waking the desperate craving for his touch. She lowered her eyes, but it was not embarrassment she felt this time. No matter how self-confident he seemed, she knew the speed of his heartbeat. He reached over the table, a strong, long-fingered hand arresting her fidgeting fingers.

"Falmarinya..."

She looked up. There was something in that face, in those sea-grey eyes that made her shiver. Not with fear, but with a strange, overwhelming kind of anticipation. Was this what men looked like who... desired? And what was desire? Was it this chaotic maelstrom of feelings she felt pulling her towards him? Was he too caught in that vortex, driven towards her by the same powers? He suddenly slipped out of his chair and came to sit at her feet, his shoulders against her knees, his head tilted back until it lay in her lap.

"Cradling ships in her snow-white hands..."

She almost sighed at the sensuality of his voice. "From harm she keeps captain and crew." How could her own voice sound so brittle all of a sudden?

Smiling, he took her hands and placed them high on his chest. "To her the mariners cry..."

"Upon the sea to lay clam."

He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her palms before he recited the beginning of another line: "And soothing flowed from her hands..."

She swallowed. "Calming her wrathful spouse."

He closed his eyes, stroking her hands. "Will you calm me, Falmarinya? Will you come to me with the sweetness of a sunny day?" He did not wait for an answer, but continued reciting.

"Like mother-of-pearl in the depths..."

Bewildered she shook her head. "There is no such line in the lay. I know every single line since I learned them as a child. You are cheating."

He smiled, a lazy, provoking smile, his eyes still closed. "I'm not."

He sat up and turned round. Their eyes met while his hands followed the line of her thighs until they came to rest on her hips.

"Like mother-of-pearl in the depths - Her haunches temptingly sheen." His voice was a husky whisper, softening even further as he pulled her towards him: "There are many more lines, Gelíris, many more in that book hidden in one of the upper shelves of the library of Dol Amroth. Do you want to learn them? Shall I teach them to you?"

"You are making that up." In an attempt to steady herself she put her hand on his shoulders, desperately trying to keep her breathing even but to no avail. To feel the warm, solid form of his body, the finely chiseled muscles moving under her clenching hands as his arms encircled her... And then her gaze was pulled to where the neckline of his shirt had come askew when he had turned, baring a patch of skin slightly lighter than his face and hands, the bold ridge of his collarbone, the hint of the ball of his shoulder. In spite of herself her tongue licked over her lower lip and only his tightening grasp brought to her mind what she had been doing. Embarrassed she averted her eyes but she could not bring herself to let go of his shoulders.

"I'm not making up anything, Falmarinya."

For a moment his hands came to rest on hers and then he loosened his sash, and pulling his shirt over his head, he threw it carelessly aside. She stared, stunned for a split second and then her hands were on his chest, stroking the impeccable planes, feeling his hardened nipples under her palms. So hard... so smooth. Her hands paused for a moment. Smooth... Only now her reeling mind realised that there was not a single hair on Imrahil's chest. Bewildered she blinked. Did he wax? But that could not be for there unmistakably was black hair showing in his armpits. And anyway, what did it matter? What did anything matter but to touch him, to be touched. She leaned towards him and in one sweeping movement he pulled her out of the chair.

Her surprised gasp turned into a moan as his lips found hers, one arm encircling her, while his other hand cupped her breast. Her senses were reeling. Never had she been touched like this, never felt so... Her nails dug into his shoulders as he grabbed her hips and pulled her down on his thigh.

"With ever-increasing desire - her coral-tipped breasts he beheld."

His voice was coarse, breathless, almost desperate. How could this... She struggled for breath, feeling the hard muscles of his thigh press against her groin. Fire, liquid fire was racing through her veins. Closer! She needed to be closer, to feel...

His fingers loosened her sash, found their way under the coarse fabric of her tunic, fumbled for the waistband of her trousers. Madness! Gulping for air, she arced her back and then wriggled out of the garment. With a groan he buried his face between her breasts. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out loud.

This was what she wanted, _this,_ not the indifference of what they called matrimonial duties. _This_ was the matter that made the bards sing, the essence that lay in the poems of old. _This_ enabled Uinen to restrain her wild and wilful spouse. And she would have it. All and now!

 **Annotations:**

 **Falmarinya:** (Quenya) my mermaid


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you all for still staying with me - and the pirate and his mermaid. ;)

Dear Anon, argument or tender passion? Why not have it both?

Thanks for their helpful advice goes to the ladies of the "Garden" and especially to **Lady Bluejay** for her beta-reading.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 **Disruptions and Contradictions**

Drifting in the haze between sleep and waking, she stretched contentedly and then snuggled up to the firm body beside her in the narrow bunk with a sigh of satisfaction. Immediately a sinewy arm went around her, holding her close. How good it felt to be held like this, to feel safe and wanted. She heard Imrahil murmur something unintelligible as he pushed the unruly tousle of her hair out of her face and kissed her tenderly. She could not but smile against his lips. So this was how it felt to be satisfied and sated. She put her ear on his chest. His heartbeat was steady now, setting a solid rhythm that calmed her, pulled her further into the delicious forgetfulness of slumber. _To stay like this forever..._

A knock at the cabin door caused her to open her eyes, and before she could react in any other way, the door was opened and the prince's first mate entered.

"Imra..." Forgetting what he had wanted to say, the man gaped at them. Hot with embarrassment she tried to wriggle out of the prince's embrace. Imrahil sat up, pulled the entangled sheets over her and without any sign of rushing reached to fish his trousers from the jumble of garments in front of the bunk. How could he react so absolutely unperturbedly as if people invaded his privacy all the time ?

"Man agorech?" The officer seemed to have found his voice again, and quite an angry voice it was. "Are you mad, Imrahil? She could have drawn your dagger out of your sash any moment!"

Back to the old spy story! Mortified and confused, she grabbed the seams of the sheets. Imrahil rose to don his trousers. She wished he would knock that busybody over the head. And no doubt the officer spoke Sindarin because he was sure she would not understand him. The idiot! A quick look at Imrahil's face made clear that he might have similar thoughts, for he gazed at his officer with a provokingly bored expression and walked over to fetch his dagger from where it had been forgotten on the table after cutting up the melon.

"Oh, she certainly could. And guess what, Maeron: I would not even have noticed that I was being stabbed had she done so."

For all her embarrassment it was impossible not to giggle and she covered her mouth with her hand. Searching Imrahil's eyes, she found him grinning broadly at her and all her embarrassment vanished. She lowered her hand and smiled at him.

"Imrahil! I am talking to you!" The officer was fuming by now. "Can't you at least for one moment scrape your two ounces of brain together and listen to me?"

"I'm listening. Though I wonder what could be so urgent that you had to rush in like that."

The prince's sarcasm was paid back in kind, for the officer lifted the corner of his upper lip in an arrogant grimace. "I am extremely sorry for interrupting, my lord captain. I just came to inform you that the men you sent to search the island signalled that it is clear. But anyway I think the duty of a _captain_ should be beyond trying to get off with anything that wears skirts."

"I see." The prince's mien became inscrutable, but when he continued, the edge in his drawl could not be missed. "May I perhaps draw your attention to the fact that the lady present wears trousers?"

Suddenly the rather spacious cabin seemed oddly small. The two men stood but two paces apart, glaring at each other, their jaws set, their fists clenched. She held her breath. Given the bluntness with which they had talked, she had the strong suspicion that these two were friends, but who knew? She had no desire to be the reason they went for each other's throats. Finally the officer averted his eyes and shook his head.

"Imrahil, stop this farce. If I may remind you, you wanted to find out who she is, and here I..."

The price's answer came like a whiplash. "I did find out, Maeron."

"You did?" The surprise on the officer's face was visibly mixed with doubt.

"Yes, she's Gelíris of Tolfalas, old Admiral Aerandir's granddaughter."

"What? You can't be serious." The officer's gaze went from the prince to her and she could not help feeling uneasy under his sceptical scrutiny.

"Oh, I am." And with a grin that could only be called sardonic the prince added: "And by the way, it is of little use to talk Sindarin so she won't understand. And don't think of switching to Quenya. She's also fluent in that."

The officer opened his mouth and then closed it again, literally speechless. Finally he shook his head again. "But how can you be sure?"

The prince shrugged. "She gave me solid proofs. And I am willing to show you at least one." For a split second she felt her heart racing up with panic, but then she saw him take the signet from the table and hand it to his second in command.

"Admiral Aerandir's seal ring." Still shaking his head, the officer looked at the signet and then passed his hand over his forehead as if he felt a serious headache coming on. "Imrahil, I don't know how she got that ring, but how can the lord of Tolfalas' daughter be out here, all alone and dressed up like a fisher-woman? This woman has taken you in with her smile and a pitiful story and... " He stopped and cumbersomely cleared his throat. "Anyway, it's impossible that she is a Gondorean lady. Can't you see that she must have Southron blood?"

Taking the ring back, Imrahil nodded. "As the lords of Tolfalas have since the days of Castamir the Usurper. Perhaps you should have paid a bit more attention in the schoolroom, Maeron."

But his friend was not so easily appeased. "Even if you are right, that doesn't make things easier. If anything it makes them worse. Can't you see that? If she really is a lady, and Admiral Aerandir's granddaughter to boot, how can you..." He stopped again and cast a sideways glance at her before plodding on. "I mean, you can't just..." He groaned. "For crying out loud! You bloody conceited dolt, stop grinning! It's going to be a huge scandal and you... Your father is going to skin you alive and me with you for not keeping you out of this!"

Imrahil laughed. "Who minds a bit of scandal? I don't. And don't you worry. The old man will come around just fine in the end. I'll make sure of that."

The officer snorted with derision. "And how?"

"I will marry her."

She gasped with surprise and indignation. How could he! He had not even asked her, and... Her attention was drawn back to the men's dispute.

"I always knew you were a mad dog, Imrahil, but I thought you had at least _some_ sense of political reality. Just think for one second! Given she really is old Aerandir's granddaughter, Pelargir will not be pleased to have Dol Amroth's influence extended to its very front door, and I dare say your father won't be happy to have a new round of the old spat with Thólinnas."

Walking to the cabin door, Imrahil nodded. "No, you are right. Thólinnas will not be pleased. Far from it. But I am certain that my father will endorse my action once he learns my reasons. And so will you, but I beg you, spare me at the moment. I'll explain everything after tonight's ritual." He opened the door and motioned to his first mate. "See to it that everything is ready at sunset. And make sure that nobody disturbs us until then."

Literally shoving the officer out of the cabin and closing the door, Imrahil turned round to her with a smile. _That overbearing pompous ass!_ She grabbed the sheets tighter, confused by her urge to smile back at him. "I never said I would marry you."

He had the gall to grin broadly. "No, you didn't. But you have to admit it would be such a splendid way to put Thólinnas off." Still grinning, he sat down on the edge of the bunk. "Look, dear, as it is, marrying me is a safe way out of all the trouble for you, and though no doubt gossip will boil over, a marriage will allow me to at least keep a veneer of respectability."

She felt stunned and for a moment could do nothing but stare at him aghast. This simply could not be! How could he have been so scheming, so calculating, pretending to want her, only to ensure she would be forced to marry him and hand over the isle?

"Gelíris?" He looked at her quizzically. "For Uinen's sweet mercy, what is it this time that I angered you with?" He reached to stroke her face, but she swatted his hand away.

"You are no better than Thólinnas. The moment you see a chance to get your dirty paws on Tolfalas, you talk about marriage. You just want to get the island, nothing else."

With a long-suffering sigh he shook his head.

"I would be an idiot if I did not want to get my -as you call them- dirty paws on Tolfalas if there was a realistic chance. My father did not raise imbeciles, and as it is, I would enjoy getting the isle quite a lot, especially as that would prevent Thólinnas from doing so. Therefore it would be a lie if I said that I didn't want it, and I will not lie to you."

Fighting to keep her tears of disappointment from spilling, she turned her back on him. Immediately he bent over her, stroking her taut shoulder. She raised her hand to her mouth, biting her fingers to keep herself from crying. How could she have been such an idiot to have fallen so easily to his fake caresses and false endearments? She felt him lie down behind her, his lips seeking for the tip of her ear.

"But I'm not at all like Thólinnas, believe me."

That was too much! Rolling round, she shoved him off. "You are not? Forgive me, but I did not notice."

Without any noticeable effort he caught her angry hands in his. "No, Gelíris of Tolfalas, I'm not, for the very moment I saw you crawling over the side of this ship, before I had any idea who you are and how you are linked to the isle, I wanted you."

"Wha...?" Too late she realised that she was gaping. Did he really think he could impress her with such an empty platitude? And yet she could not help the hot rush that coiled low in her belly. Tearing her hands free, she turned her back on him again to keep him from reading her expression. He did not touch her again but lay so close that she imagined she felt the heat emanating from his body.

"I did. And I dare say that that moment you _really_ resembled something that had just crawled out from under a stone." His voice was soft, but the underlying mirth spurred her anger.

"You want any woman that comes your way."

Now he chuckled openly. "No, only the enticing ones."

 _The idiotic sweet-talker!_ She scrambled further to the back of the bunk, eager to get away from the dangerous lure of his body being close to hers. "Enticing! Stop mocking me! In these clothes! And I have had no chance to do anything properly for days... And anyway they all say I'm much too short and plump to be attractive and lack true style and deportment and..." Her voice petered out as she felt a treacherous lump in her throat. She swallowed. "I'll never be one of those _Númenórean beauties_."

Again he caressed her shoulder and still chuckling, he buried his face in her hair. "No certainly not. You simply are not haughty and prissy enough. But I dare say I can do without that. And what defines Númenórean? The vulture beak my eldest sister calls a nose? I dare say I have a different conception of beauty."

She sensed that he sat up again and obviously shifted to sit on the edge of the bunk, leaving her bewildered at the feeling of disappointment and loss that flooded her. She heard him heave a breath and then his hand tenderly touched her shoulder.

"Well, Gelíris of Tolfalas, as it is, we have a decision to make. How shall things go on? And know this: I will not force you into anything, I will not take anything you don't agree to give freely."

As if she was afraid of that! But how could she be sure of her own resolve if with just that confounded voice of his he could make her knees turn to jelly? Not to say anything about his making love to her. She pressed her lips together as his thumb began to stroke her taut shoulder-blade in small circles.

"Gelíris, you said you want to prevent that old monger Thólinnas from marrying you. And you want to create a scandal to ensure he'll keep his mitts off you. Is that so?"

She nodded again, her face still averted. The stroking stopped and she felt his hand close around the ball of her shoulder for a moment before he let go of her.

"Well, then so be it. I'll be most obliged to help you kick up as much dust as you like and I assure you that claiming you lay with me will choke him. Never mind that it will cast me in quite a negative light."

She blinked as the realisation sank in that he was right. It was not just her scandal any longer. He would be involved, would probably be accused of seducing her! What a mess she had got into! Not knowing what to answer, she gave in to the childish notion to pull the sheet over her head, but he stopped her, catching her hands in his.

"Listen, Gelíris. If you are satisfied with that, so I will be. I won't insist on marrying you and I will bear the gossip without complaint for your sake. But you should give a thought to the future. Even if Thólinnas withdraws his marriage proposal, which I would not be too sure of if I were you, what will your parents do? Accept the scandal and ride it out silently? I doubt that. Has it never occurred to you that you might be disinherited for what people call immoral conduct? Did you never think this through to the end? Have you never thought of those third and fourth cousins who would only be too delighted to find a reason to take your place?"

 _Why had he always to be so overbearing?_ And what was worse, he was absolutely right. Fearing her voice would be unsteady, she simply shook her head. How mortifying to have him pointing out the obvious. It had seemed such a splendid idea to flee the isle and the man she despised in old Limdir's boat. And now she had got herself caught in a glue trap like some brainless fieldfare. How could she not have considered all that? Had not Grandfather always warned her that she had no strategic mind? And she did not doubt a moment that the heir of Dol Amroth was an accomplished strategist, manipulating her to his own aim. Angrily she snatched her hands away. He bent over her, trying to look into her face. "Falmarinya?"

She swallowed at the tone of genuine care and worry in his voice. No, she would not allow herself to be taken in! Stubbornly, she raised her chin. "I'm not a mermaid. And what is more, I'm not yours."

Was it really regret she felt at her own words? Furious with herself, she stared at the wall. Soft, almost not touching her at all, his hand caressed her cheek.

"No you are not, Gelíris of Tolfalas. But I wish I could change that."

How could a mere whisper sound like an enchantment? Uinen's sweet mercy, was she really nothing but a besotted damsel, falling for the pirate prince? She needed to think clearly. Pushing his hand away, she sat up and hugged her knees. _Take stock of the situation, find out what you really want, make up your mind, and then reflect what of your aims can be realised and how._ How often had her grandfather drilled that into her?

She had wanted to avoid being married off to a man who did not esteem her in the slightest. Well, at least she was out of Thólinnas' reach at the moment. She had wanted to thwart her parents' plans to use her as a means to secure Pelargir's alliance. She scratched her nose. She probably had, but as Imrahil had pointed out, that might turn out to be a hitch in her plans.

Looked at with an objective eye, the prince's offer of marriage certainly was a most practical way out of the tangle she had got herself into as there was no realistic chance to give Imrahil the slip and continue towards Anfalas. And did she even want to do that? Certainly life in Dol Amroth would be better than anything she could have found up there. But would she be welcome to Imrahil's father? She grimaced. Surely, if Tolfalas came with her. But what about Imrahil himself? Would he truly cherish her? What was he taking her for if not a means to get the isle? What did he really think of her after she had shared his bed so fast and more than eagerly? How would she ever be able to cope with the disturbing feelings he evoked in her? This incredible yearning that tore at her despite all her misgivings? What would he do, realising that his open display of desire made her blood run hot though she knew that no maiden should crave what she had craved and still hungered for? Would he still want her once he had her tied to him by marriage?

But what were her other options? Perhaps he had mentioned the possible danger of being disinherited to sway her, but nevertheless there was some truth in his arguments. She chewed her lower lip. She could not stay put and weather things out, she had to make up her mind and to act. If only there were not so many unknown aspects. But then, had not Grandfather always compared life to sailing in a choppy sea? She breathed deep. Whatever course she set, she would have to sail unknown waters. Whether she was going back to Tolfalas or ahead to Dol Amroth there were shoals unknown to her, currents and undercurrents, sudden gales that could capsize her. Would she really let those imponderables cow her?

How often had she dared the waves, had rejoiced in the challenges of a difficult course? Was she now to give up at the halfway mark only because she might founder? Heaving a breath, she squared her shoulders. If she was to go down, she would make sure it would be in a true maelstrom, braving the unpredictable waves that had come to her out of Osse's depths, riding the crest of the unknown surf and not running ashore in the backwaters of Tolfalas.


	6. Chapter 6

So here comes a bit of an eye-opener for Imrahil. Perhaps that will make you stop wanting to slap him, Cselecsaj. ;) And I hope you like this chapter as much as the others, Anon.

A big thank you to all of you for reading, to the ladies of the "Garden" for concrete criticism and to **Lady Bluejay** for her patient beta-reading.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 **Politics and Pragmatism**

Slumping forward on the edge of his bunk, Imrahil propped his elbows on his knees. What a mess he had got himself into! But who would have expected that that stubborn slip of a girl would simply refuse to marry him. Ossë's rod, he was the future prince of the most important fief of Gondor, he was offering her an honourable way to get out of everything, and here he was being rejected like a stray dog. And she was no experienced widow, keen to keep her liberties. She had been untouched! This girl, this woman was certainly the incarnation of contradiction. And a very enticing contradiction to boot, even more so as she was obviously totally unaware of that fact.

He sat up to look at her and suppressed a groan. The way she sat, her knees pulled to her chest and encircling them with both arms, she presented him with a more than clear view of her naked back. And what a nice back! In the slating sunrays her skin looked honey-coloured, corresponding enticingly with the dark chestnut tousle of her hair. And he knew how soft that skin was... He swallowed, trying to concentrate on the problem at hand. Her face was partly hidden in said tousle, but he could see that the frown was still there. He heaved a breath.

"Do you regret what we've done, Gelíris?"

She raised her head and looked at him, her face showing nothing but surprise. "Regret?" She shook her head, her brow now in an even deeper frown. "No, I certainly don't regret anything I have done since the moment I decided to leave Tolfalas, except my stupidity not to take more water with me, though I don't know how I could have done that."

"But did you never give any thought to what might happen if your plans went awry?" He could not believe such incredible naivete. "What if it had been Umbarians on this ship?"

She shrugged. "I told you I took you for Umbarians at first. I only noticed the name and the colours later, when I had already put the knife to my neck to cut my carotid."

"What?" How could she say such a thing so absolutely matter of fact? With such a calm face? What if she had not realised her error in her befuddled condition? He felt a cold lump in his stomach.

Letting go of her knees, she sat up straight, obviously not realising that thus the sheet slipped off her breasts. She lifted her chin. "I'm not afraid to die. Death was one of the options I considered from the very beginning, but I did not want to go down without at least having tried a different way."

Imrahil suppressed a groan. Where to look if not at those delectable mounds? How could her body sing with life even as she spoke of death? He swallowed. "You despise marriage that much?"

She grimaced and shook her head. "Stop talking nonsense. Certainly not. Not even an arranged marriage, at least if my grandfather had been the one to arrange it, for he would have considered me. I know I have a duty towards Tolfalas and I have always been willing to fulfil it. What I despise is being tied to a man who is not interested in me, who feels nothing but contempt for me but puts up with me as his wife because he wants to get what by statute and law is mine."

Tucking away her hair that had been falling into her face with both hands, she became aware of her bare breasts and blushing furiously, pulled up the sheet again. How temptingly this girl blushed! And also her words were no doubt promising. With a smile he bent towards her, his fingers trailing the seam of the sheet. "Gelíris, after what we shared, can you really say truthfully that I am not interested in you?"

Her blush deepened, but she made no attempt to avert his fingers. That certainly was a good sign. He moved closer and put an arm around her shoulders. How good it was to feel that warm and soft skin. "Look, I admit that things have come a bit sudden, but let's take a look at the benefits. For both of us that is."

Did she really sigh as she nestled into his embrace or was that only his wishful thinking? He was not sure, but when she looked up, her eyes were doubtlessly laughing.

"You are not used to taking no for an answer, are you?"

Pulling her closer, he kissed her nose. "What did you say no to? You accuse me of telling Maeron that I would marry you without having asked you first. That certainly was awkward, but I don't know what else I should have said to keep your honour and mine. But as I did never ask you, you have to admit that you never uttered any no."

He felt her laughter tickle his skin. "Quibbler!"

He chuckled. "More of a chess player. That game certainly teaches you to plan your moves ahead." Too late he realised that he had said something wrong. Pulling up the sheet again, she averted her face, the body that had one moment ago snuggled into his, stiff as a poker.

"Do you always plan the things you do beforehand?" Her voice sounded as dismissive as her posture felt.

Cursing himself silently, he tried to evade a direct answer. "As a captain it is my duty to plan things."

With an angry grunt she slipped out of his arms. "Don't try to misunderstand me on purpose. When you were sure I was who I claimed to be, did you plan to marry me to get Tolfalas?"

"What?" Could she not for one moment forget that damned island? Could she not see that Tolfalas had played no role when he... He sighed. There was no other way - he would have to go through with this embarrassing discussion. "No, I had not thought about Tolfalas. Not really."

"Not really?" The frown was back on her face.

He shrugged. "The idea was there, I suppose, somewhere on the periphery of my conscious mind but to get the isle was nothing I planned or even registered as important at that moment. I was rather preoccupied with other things as you might recall."

She shook her head and stubbornly lifted her chin. "You could easily have pretended desire to ensnare me."

He sighed, not sure whether he should laugh or groan with frustration. "Believe me, Gelíris, there are certain things that are quite difficult for a man to pretend as far as passion is concerned."

At least she seemed to have understood his hint for he was rewarded with one of her delectable blushes. How he would have liked to tease her further! But this was no moment for jokes. And he would not risk irritating her any further. "No, Gelíris, I did not feign desire, but I have to admit that knowing you to be Admiral Aerandir's granddaughter, marriage seemed self-evident to me. I never expected any reluctance from your side."

She wrinkled her nose. "I wonder why you are not married yet. There might have been more than one reluctant woman."

"Now you are hitting low deliberately!"

Was it really the hint of a grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth? The woman's mood changed like quicksilver! If only he managed not to upset her again. And to keep his fingers to himself. Wishing to stay on the safe side, he resorted to a shrug. "It was rather political reasons that spared me from wedlock."

"Spared?"

If only her eyebrows did not look so nice when she raised them in that condescending way! He grimaced. "Being a chess piece that both those two old men, my father _and_ Denethor, want to play is not really funny."

She folded her arms in front of her breasts and he was sure that had she been standing, she would have been tapping her foot. "So marrying me and having Tolfalas thrown in would do both, free you of their machinations and be a brilliant coup as far as Dol Amroth's interests are concerned?

He knew that his expression looked rather sheepish. "Yes, getting Tolfalas would greatly enhance Dol Amroth's power, but come on, becoming the princess of Dol Amroth is nothing to sneeze at."

Seeing no hint of anger on her face, he added hopefully: "It would be so much fun to tell Thólinnas that the island goes to Dol Amroth. And it would also keep my father from flaying me for risking political upheaval." He paused, searching her face for the well-known frown, but all he could find on her face, carefully schooled to blandness, were those ever so slightly twitching lips, as if she was trying very hard not to smile. The minx! And yet he felt like whooping at her reaction. Holding out his open hand to her, he tilted his head. "So why not give it a chance? It's up to you to decide whether you will marry me or not, I'll keep my word. But let me woo you, let me show you what there is to be had as my wife. Judge me by my performance."

"Performance?" Her snort was pure contempt. "What are you? A Haradric belly-dancer?"

Doubling over with laughter, he caught her in his arms, burying his face in her hair. "I'm not, not a good one anyway. But if you want me to be one, belly-dancer, I mean, for I'll find it difficult to turn into a Haradrim, I'll try my very best to entertain you."

Grabbing his still shaking shoulders, she shoved him away. "You idiot. Stop teasing me."

With difficulty he reined in his mirth. "I'm not teasing you, I'm totally serious, dear. Though I'm afraid you got me wrong as to what kind of performance I was referring to."

"Oh!"

It was only that one word she uttered, that one breathless sound, an expression of mixed surprise and embarrassment and of something else that he could not totally grasp but that made his blood run hot nevertheless. To hear that sound again... to be able to elicit it. And was the blush that flushed her neck and face only caused by mortification? That sweet face turned up to him with unseeing eyes... Uinen's mercy, that woman would be his death! And he would willingly die in her arms every night.

Slowly, not to frighten her away, he pulled her close again. How willingly she responded, how good and solid she felt in his arms, how satisfying it was to feel her full breasts touch his chest. What for the fires of Utumno was it that made this woman so very special? For a moment he just held her, his cheek resting on the crown of her head. His alluring flotsam... She would probably bite off his nose if he called her that. What a strange, contradictory creature! She stirred and then cleared her throat.

"That was not fair. How could I understand such... innuendos."

Grinning, he kissed her temple."Never mind, nobody will ever come to know you did not. And on closer consideration you were not so far from the gold anyway, for is making love not called the most ancient of dances? And I did not have the feeling that you did not enjoy what I had to offer you."

Bracing her hands against his chest, she looked into his face. "You are incredibly vain and full of yourself, Imrahil of Dol Amroth."

Still grinning, he nodded. "That might be true. But should not any man try to improve what is given to him by the Valar?"

All of a sudden the frown was back on her face. "Is that the reason you wax?"

"What?" Was she really assuming that he... ?

Her forefinger prodded his chest. "All the naked male chests I've ever seen..." Her voice petered out and her face turned almost scarlet as she realised what she had said. "I mean, the sailors and the porters on the docks... They are, well … quite hairy and..."

"Oh that!" He found it almost impossible not to laugh out loud. "No, I have never waxed. I simply never grew any chest hair, nor a beard." He drew her hand to his jaw. "Feel it? Smooth as a baby's bottom. They say it's Mithrella's heritage that shows in the House of Dol Amroth and comes through more fully every other generation." It did feel quite nice that she did not pull her hand away again but started to stroke his jaw with tender fingers instead. He simply could not resist the urge to tease her. Catching her hand, he kissed her fingertips.

"I hope it does not put you off. Though it did not seem to when we..."

His words were interrupted by a sharp rap on his knuckles. "Is it so exceptional that your - as you put it - _performance_ is welcomed by the woman you lay with that you have to point it out repeatedly?" Her voice sounded ironic, but there was no hint of anger in her eyes. He grinned. Sensual _and_ witty... Things were getting better all the time.

He winked at her. "I can't say I have heard any complaints, but then I've never tried to convince a woman to marry me before."

She raised those delicious eyebrows haughtily. "I did not complain, did I?

 _H_ _e would have to be careful or his happy grin would split his face._ "No you didn't. That should at least count in my favour. And what is more you said that you do not regret having lain with me. "

Her face grew serious, but she did not reprimand him this time. "No, I don't regret what we did. But I regret that anything we do, nay, even what we feel or think is inextricably tangled with matters of politics, of power and influence, of pride and respectability till all our true self is hidden behind that cold and stifling curtain, locked away like something one should be ashamed off. I wish I could get free of all that." She gave a mirthless little laugh. "Mind you, I am no hopeless romantic. I know that I have a much better life than most women in Gondor, simply because I was born daughter to a lord, and I don't fancy a life in poverty and disgrace. I just wish..." She shrugged, never finishing her sentence.

He carefully heaved a breath. _Sensual, witty and thoughtful_. This woman was full of surprises. What would come next? He gently caressed her cheek. "I'm afraid neither of us can do anything without it having some political consequence. We are the heirs of Tolfalas and Dol Amroth, whether we want it or not."

"You don't have to tell me that. I was actually educated to _govern_ Tolfalas though it went against my father's will." She grimaced. "After grandfather's death he informed me that he would have preferred to confine my education to the representing competencies demanded of a Gondorean lady." She shot him a wry smile. "I was luckier than I deserved that Grandfather took things in hand."

Returning her smile, her made a rather futile attempt to tuck her unruly chestnut brown strands behind her ears. "From what I saw when I was on Tolfalas at least as a toddler you had a most interesting life."

"Oh, it never stopped being interesting. I still love to learn for it feels like opening a window to the world a bit wider every time I learn something new."

Her smile turned a little wistful. "Grandfather laid the foundations for that. And he made sure I was taught everything a male heir would have been taught, except for swordplay and the battleaxe that is. But I know how to wield dagger and throwing knife."

He rather sensed than saw the straightening of her back, the almost unnoticeable raising of her chin, but when she continued talking, he clearly noticed the confidence in her voice.

"And he taught me to sail the tricky waters of the bay, to read charts and maps and find my course by the position of the stars." She stopped and grinned at him proudly. " And I am a better rider than most men on the isle."

Chuckling, he pulled her close. "Your grandfather truly indulged you and let you grow into a fine specimen of a tomboy."

The forceful shaking of her head sent her hair flying again. "Not really, for I was also taught the lore, and I am fluent in both, Sindarin and Quenya as you know yourself."

Her expression could only be called smug by now, but he found that he was enjoying himself mightily. She most certainly was boasting, but why not? And at least he had to admit that her Quenya was excellent. Her chin lifted confidently, she continued her list.

"I have been sitting at my Grandfather's councils since I was twelve, have studied every damned contract and charter that has been written on Tolfalas since the days of Castamir. And mind you, though I have never had a real talent for strategies and up to the present day have failed at learning to play chess, I understood their importance and how they influenced Tolfalas' policy."

For a split second he felt the urge to scratch his head. Why was she telling him all this? If only half of it was true, old Aerandir had taken his aim to educate her as the ruler of Tolfalas more than seriously. But then there was no reason for her to trot out any lies. Could it be that she was trying to encourage herself, listing up all the things she felt up to?

Looking at him expectantly, she came to a conclusion. "And besides all that I still had to learn all the tedious accomplishments that are expected from a Gondorean lady."

He grinned, and visibly annoyed, she folded her arms in front of her breasts. "What would you have done if they had expected you to do embroidery, to learn to play the harp and sing, to dance all those complicated and terribly starched court-dances, to...?

He found it difficult to stop grinning. "As a matter of fact I had to learn all those things, except for the embroidery that is. But I also found the court-dances most annoying."

She rolled her eyes and then looked at him haughtily. "Oh yes, how could I expect the accomplished heir of Dol Amroth not to be versed in any trade that there is under the sun. But so what? You are twice my age – you had twice the time to learn all those things."

Laughing out loud, he raised his hands. "Have mercy! Don't make me older than I am."

Throwing back her mane, she chose to ignore him. "Just give me some more years and I'll show you what accomplishment really means!"

"In playing chess?" He regretted the remark the moment it left his mouth. For a split second her face showed genuine hurt and then it was replaced by an expression of blazing fury and two small but hard fists hit his chest.

He grabbed her fists, enclosing them with his larger hands. "Gelíris, please. I'm sorry. I just meant to tease you, but I swear I never wanted to hurt you, I…

She forcefully tucked her hands away. "You confounded shark-spawn! How..?"

He shot her a wry smile. "Oh, dear! Yes, I can clearly recognise the old Admiral's teaching!"

That only caused her to bristle further. "Don't you dare to slander my grandfather!"

Osse's rod, what a mess he had got himself in again! He slowly shook his head. "I would never do anything like that for I have the greatest respect for him. But I spent many days in his company and I know his vivid phrasing only too well as I often was the target of it."

For a moment she hesitated and then went back to her former strategy of simply turning her face away. "I miss him."

It was little more than a whisper, but he felt as if a red-hot knife had pierced his heart. What an idiot he was! Still avoiding his gaze, she continued in a low voice. "There never was a man more keen and yet gentle at the same time, never one who could see more clearly through a person. He would spot your faults and weaknesses and point them out to you, but never to belittle you. Never! For he always tried to show you a way to mend them. Or if that were not possible he would advise you how to compensate them by honing your other talents. He never failed to find at least something in a person. He… "

She did not sob, but the big tears that slowly rolled down her cheeks seemed more terrible to him than any hysterics could have been. Warily, as if facing a startled animal, Imrahil put his arms around her, slowly pulling her into him when she did not push him away. After a while her tears stopped and she reached for the corner of the sheet to dry her face. When she spoke again it was so low that he could almost not understand her.

"He tried so very hard to teach me how to play chess, but I simply never grasped more than the most common moves. I know how disappointed he was that I have no strategic skills at all, but he never showed it. He just stopped trying to teach me to play."

Imrahil could have kicked himself! What had got into him to put his finger on the only thing she did not feel confident about! In an attempt to soothe her, he stroked her back. "Look, Gelíris, you planned your flight. You cannot completely lack strategic thinking."

A contemptuous snort made him stop. "Just a moment ago you yourself pointed the flaws of my plan out to me.

He suppressed a sigh. Why had every stupidity he had said come to bite his arse right now? "There are flaws, but have a look at what worked: You knew where you could get a boat without being noticed. You planned how to get there. You considered the time needed to get there, you placed the bridle..."

She wriggled out of his embrace. "You don't understand. That was a straight set task. Anything I can plan step by step is no problem at all." She paused and heaved a breath. "Tell me to arrange a feast and I'll do it, from the reception of the guests to the menu and the seating arrangements considering their ranks and any eventual squabbles amongst them that would forbid placing people side by side. Tell me to equip a warship for a patrol and you won't find any fault with what I do. I _can_ do such things, at least in the dimensions of Tolfalas. I know what is needed and who to ask for information, where to order things from … " Her voice petered out and she shrugged. "Grandfather appreciated that but he said I lack cunning. That is certainly true. But I'm not clueless, for when I talk to people, I can feel their intention, their disposition."

Her face was serious, but there were no traces of her former sadness. Gently he caressed her cheek. "And what does your feeling tell you about me?"

She sighed, and glanced at him with a doubtful mien. "That is difficult, for I find you fickle and contradictory like Ossë himself."

Frowning, he pulled his hand away. "Fickle? Me?"

She nodded. "You change from angry and condescending to caring and gentle in a trice. You are dismissively cold the one moment and winsome the other. You hurt and soothe at the same time, and… " She shrugged and averted her eyes.

"And?"

She did not look at him, but she answered. "You call to me like the sea, but living with you I imagine would be like swimming a rip-tide."

Surprised, he did not immediately know what to say, but she forestalled him anyway, raising her hand. "Mind you, I am not afraid to dive into one. It is fascinating and powerful and a miracle though it is dangerous. But I am afraid what will happen to me when the current ebbs and I will surface again and my strength will be spent."

He felt the fine hairs on his nape rise with the thought, but he had to know. "Gelíris, have you ever been sucked in by a rip-tide?

To his relief, she shook her head, but what she said then simply left him speechless. "Not sucked in. I dived into it deliberately."

"You did what?"

Totally unruffled, she shrugged. "I was I child then, mere eleven years old. You see, Grandfather had taught me where to expect them and how to avoid them. But he had also told me that should I get into one I should not fight it but resolutely go with it instead, as it would keep me below the surface but not draw me to the bottom of the sea. And he said that if I had enough breath to last until its end it would simply spit me out, sometimes several yards off the shore. So one day I decided to try it out."

"And?" He still felt too flabbergasted to say more.

She grinned. "And it worked, or I would not be here. But I had not given any thought to how I would come back to the shore because I simply had not imagined that I would be so exhausted. Fortunately some fishermen had seen what I did and rescued me."

That unpredictable nuisance of a girl! His mind still boggled at the mere thought of what she had done and he could not help shaking his head. The only reaction he elicited from her was a deepening of her grin. He frowned. "Did they tell the admiral?"

She shook her head. _"_ _I_ did. And I had to stay away from the beach for the rest of the summer and what was worse, learn all the boat types and different riggings from Umbar to Anfalas by heart, in Westron, Sindarin, Quenya and Haradric. That's why I immediately knew that it was a Haradric dromond when you sailed in."

 _And prepared to kill herself!_ "Poor dear." She stiffened in his arms and for a moment he feared that his remark might have sounded sarcastic, but her answer told him otherwise.

"I don't need your pity."

Relieved, he nuzzled her hair. "No, you do not. But don't I deserve yours?"

"Yes, for being a moron."

Was there really laughter in those brown eyes that peered at him through dark lashes? Deciding to try his luck, he kissed the tip of her ear. "Thank you. I appreciate your sophisticated terms of endearment. They so much befit the future princess of Dol Amroth."

"Princess of Dol Amroth! Don't make me laugh!" Despite her effort to appear angry, the grin was back on her face and she snuggled into him quite comfortably, though that did not stop her from berating him. "And as for things that fit: This pirate ship fits _you_ like a hand in a glove because at heart you are nothing but a pirate."

He took her face in both hands, unable to hide his wide grin. "And is that not a wonderful piece of luck and coincidence as there is to hope that you will follow your ancestress' example and take this pirate in hand to make him a useful member of mankind?"

Laughing, she put her hands around his neck, pulling his head down, and then her lips did much more than just tell him what she had in store for him. Ossë, could this woman kiss! She kissed like she had given herself to him, like she had swum the rip-tide: curious and courageous, with every fibre of her being, not even _thinking_ about restraint. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against her. "Oh Falmarinya, you are incredible, and I wish you would stay with me and add your unpredictable sparkle to my life. Marry me, will you?"

"It would be the prudent thing to do, wouldn't it?"

Her voice was still breathless from their kiss, yet the frown seemed to be back on her face. He felt like pulling his hair. How could this chit of a girl cause him to make such a fool of himself? Heaving a breath, he shook his head. "I really don't understand why you refuse..."

He was interrupted by her chuckle. "I didn't say I refused, did I?"


	7. Chapter 7

So here comes the last and rather chapter of this little spin-off of "Through Shadows". I hope you enjoyed reading and jogging along (at least mentally ;) ) with my imagination.

Thank you all, especially for the feedback I received.

Dear Anon, I hope the ending is not too conventional for your taste, but then everybody knew they were going to get married from the very beginning of the story.

Life is quite busy at the moment, so it might take a bit longer until I'll start posting the next story. I would like to thank the ladies of the "Garden" for their support, and first amongst them Lady Bluejay for helping me with the slings and arrows of the English language.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 **The Things that Bind**

 _She felt thirsty. Slowly she let her tongue pass over her chapped lips and then stopped at the crack in the corner of her mouth. It had been so hot and she had run out of water…_

 _"Water."_

H _er voice seemed strange to herself, hollow and faint, as if it came from somewhere far away. Her lids felt so heavy. What if she never opened her eyes again? What if she did not find any water?… There was sea-lavender blooming just above the tideline of the beach, but no water._

 _"Water!"_

 _She tried to raise her head…_

"Gelíris!"

 _So familiar a voice… It sounded worried. Hands touched her shoulders. Strong hands… familiar hands..._

"Gelíris, dear, wake up! For Uinens sweet mercy, wake up." The hands shook her gently and she opened her eyes. Someone was bent over her. A suntanned face, framed by tousled black strands, sea-grey eyes looking at her, full of concern. She blinked, as all of a sudden she remembered.

"Imrahil?"

He sighed with relief. "I thought I would never manage to wake you up. You must have had a bad dream."

She sat up, still feeling strangely unfocussed. "Yes, I dreamt that I had run out of water." She breathed deep. "But I truly am thirsty. That must have triggered the dream."

"Wait."

He slipped out of the bunk and fetched the jug and the cup from the table. Crouching before the bunk, he filled the cup and held it out to her. Instead of taking the cup from his hands, she encircled them with hers and then raised the cup to her lips and drained it greedily. Water! How long was it that he had held her hands, letting her drink the blissful first gulps after days of thirst? A simple wooden dipper then, his hands restraining her from drinking too fast and making herself sick - a silver-brimmed cup now and his hands in hers…

Their eyes met over the brim of the cup. _There is thirst and thirst…_ His words echoed in her mind and sent a shudder of delight through her. Smiling, she let go of his hands. "Can I have some more water, please?"

He filled it again and this time she took it from him, drinking in small sips. A sudden bump on deck made her almost spill the rest. Then the sound of something being rolled over the planks could be heard. Cursing under his breath, Imrahil rose.

"They are bringing out the wine barrel. I had not realised that it was already that late. I'm afraid we have to hurry, dear."

Holding out the empty cup to him, she skidded to the edge of the bunk. "Why? For the ritual you mentioned?"

He nodded. "Yes. We will hold a thank offering to Ossë and Uinen for the capture of this ship at sunset. And I would like you to celebrate with us."

Again he walked over to the table, this time shaking out the kirtle and the underdress that still lay on one side of it. Biting her lower lip, she followed his every move with her eyes. No, he certainly did not need a billowing shirt and a broad sash to make a woman gasp. And to think she had had her hands all over that gorgeous body! The garments still in his hands, he turned to address her, a mischievous grin spreading over his face as he noticed that she had been ogling him.

"Do you like what you see, Falmarinya?"

She felt the heat of a furious blush on her face, but holding his eyes, she raised her chin. "I certainly do. And to a degree that I would be loath to share with anybody."

"Would you then?" She was not sure about the undertone in his voice nor about the fathomless gaze he shot her, except that it did not express any displeasure at her remark. Coming back to the bunk, he spread the clothes on the bed. "I'll get you some water. Wash and don that dress of yours, and try to get the worst tangles out of your mane. I'll also freshen up quickly and then help you with it."

Seeing her frown, he grinned. "There's no need to worry. I have two elder sisters who taught me how to comb a lady's hair."

He walked over to the wall cabinet, fumbled around a bit in its depth and then handed her a brush and a comb made from boxwood. She expected him to get dressed to fetch the promised washing water, but instead he sat down on the bunk beside her. He took her hand and having put something on her palm, he closed her fingers around it. "Take this, Gelíris, as a token of our union. A union I have every intention to keep pure and which I want to announce to my men tonight after the offering."

She opened her hand and stared. The central stone of the silver ring was a flawless deep-blue sapphire, encircled by pieces of aquamarine and mountain crystal of the same workmanship. The ring itself was much too big for her to wear on any finger save her thumb, but it was simply beautiful.

He smiled. "You can wear it on your chain until we can get it made smaller at Dol Amroth. It's the only share of the booty I took besides the ship herself, for I liked how it shows the colours of Dol Amroth though no doubt it was made in the South. May it be a good omen."

She blushed. "I have nothing to give you in return but Grandfather's signet ring."

His smile deepened. "As long as you won't reproach me for taking it… "

Now it was her turn to flit to the table and knowing that Imrahil would follow her every movement with his eyes made her feel breathless and happy. Ha, if her mother could see her! Her mother who had been so mortified by that dratted birthmark her daughter's bum sported, her mother who had advised her to hide the blemish until after the consummation of her marriage. She felt glorious until all of a sudden realisation hit her. Turning round, she held out the ring to Imrahil.

Seeing her expression, he jumped up and took her hand. "What's wrong, dear? You don't have to worry if you have any qualms. I'll wait until we reach Dol Amroth and first present you to my parents if..."

She furiously shook her head and slipped the signet of Tolfalas on his finger. "Don't be a fool, Imrahil. I have no qualms. But you forgot something important. I'm not of age. You cannot announce our betrothal without my parents' consent."

He flashed her a rakish grin and kissed her palm. "Oh, I won't announce our betrothal."

She gaped, not understanding anything and he bent, playfully kissing her lower lip.

"I will announce the consummation of our marriage."

"But…" Choking on her words, she sputtered to a halt.

Chuckling, he pulled her into him. "No buts. My parents have pestered me for years never to forget my elven heritage, especially as Mithrellas' legacy shows so clearly in my features. Well, how can they gainsay me now to have taken my wife the way of the Eldar?"

 **Epilogue**

Dol Amroth, Urime 3016 TA

The sun of a late morning filled the room with a golden flickering. Soon the servants would close the louvred blinds against the day's heat, casting everything into twilight, but at the moment the sun reigned, its rays bouncing off the silver surface of the huge mirror. Her maid was flitting through the room, laying out the garments and the jewellery she was to wear. Gelíris sighed. Given the expected heat she would have preferred a loose and light dress, but instead it would have to be the stiff brocades again, emphasizing her rank. Tucking her hair away from her face, the princess of Dol Amroth thoughtfully took in her reflection.

In less than an hour their guests would assemble in the great hall, the morning after the heir of Dol Amroth's wedding. The wedding of her first-born. A smile stole onto her face - soon she would hold grandchildren in her arms, though no doubt not as soon after the wedding as Elphir himself had been born. After the official wedding that was, the one her parents had insisted in, no matter what Imrahil had claimed.

What a sweet infant Elphir had been, and how her mother had squirmed with embarrassment at the fact that the healthy boy had been born less than seven months after the ceremonies on Tolfalas. Imrahil's parents had shrugged it off, falling in with Imrahil's invoking the elven heritage of the House of Dol Amroth and the logical validity of Imrahil's vows on board of the _"Vengeance"_ and Ivriniel had even had the gall to assure her mother that there was no need to worry as only the first-born tended to be born too early.

She smiled, remembering her eldest sister-in-law with fondness. True, all of Imrahil's family had been kind and welcoming to her, but nobody had received her as unprejudiced and wholeheartedly as Imrahil's sharp-witted sister. A childless widow of not yet forty then, she had lived in her father's household which she and not her mother had managed as Gelíris had found out only too soon. And this able and strong-willed woman had taken her under her wing, teaching her, supervising her and encouraging her with seemingly endless patience – though Imrahil had called it persistence and pestering. There had always been an undercurrent of rivalry between the siblings and Gelíris was sure it was based on the fact that Ivriniel bested him regularly at chess.

She sighed. All his family members were brilliant players and spent hours at the chess board whenever they had a chance. It must have been a profound disappointment for Imrahil that she simply was useless at it but through all those years he had never tried to coax her into trying it nor had he attempted to teach her the game and she was thankful that he had spared her that humiliation.

Three decades... and how much had changed during that time. Now even her youngest was a better player at chess than her. Her youngest – almost the age she had been when she had met Imrahil, but how different she was from her mother! So tall and slim, her features true Númenórean, narrow with high cheekbones and grey eyes. And that incredible contrast of cream-white skin and jet-black hair… No, outwardly there was no similarity at all and only when they were alone, when her daughter talked to her with an openness of heart and mind she herself had never felt towards her own mother there could be no doubt what that beloved child had inherited from her: open-mindedness, warm feeling and sensuality, though with Lothíriel the latter was tempered by a keen and far-seeing mind.

If only she found a husband to match her - one who married her not only because the prince of Dol Amroth was her father but who saw and cherished her for whom she was. Fortunately, however, that day was still far away. Imrahil would let no one manoeuvre him into marrying his daughter off to someone the girl was opposed to, though no doubt politics would influence her choice. She sighed. How she wished that her little one would find in marriage what she herself had found thirty years ago.

Thirty years. She stepped closer to the mirror, tucking her hair back from her face with both hands. She was wearing it a bit shorter lately as she had found the longest strands getting thin and lacklustre but overall it was still full and shiny. Only at her left temple there was a single strand that was starting to turn white. Her eyes were still bright, but there were fine creases around them, witnessing her years.

Slowly she undid the sash and let her robe slide off her shoulders down to her elbows. Her honey-coloured skin glowed in the sunlight, still smooth at the age of almost forty-seven. Life no doubt had been gentle on her. Yes, she had put on some weight and though still full, her breasts were not as firm as they had been. She passed her hands over her belly. There time and the bearing of four children had also left traces and yet she was well satisfied with what she saw. Despite a tendency towards being plump her body was well muscled and the regular exercise of riding had left it toned in general. A fond smile crept onto her face as the old proverb came to her mind: Love makes beautiful women. Yes, she certainly felt beautiful, wrapped her husband's passionate love.

At that moment the door that led to Imrahil's rooms opened and as if on cue, the Prince of Dol Amroth entered, dressed in nothing but a large towel wrapped around his hips while he was busy drying his hair with a second one. Bobbing a curtsey, the servant scuttled out of the room, leaving them to their privacy.

Smiling, she turned to her husband. "You could not do without a swim, not even on a day like this?"

He grinned. "None of our guests will be up so soon. I so often have to forego the pleasure, Falmarinya, so let me be and bear with my eccentricity." Embracing her, he playfully kissed the tip of her nose. "You should rather be grateful that I let you sleep and did not insist on your company. Though truth be told, I was looking forward to waking you after I had had my swim."

She laughed. "Don't you think you had better start to behave a bit less pirate-like, love? Remember: Your eldest son is a married man now and most probably you'll be a grandfather next summer."

Chuckling, her buried his face in her hair. "Next summer is fine with me. And though he's my spitting image I dare say he won't beat us at the speed of reproduction."

She tenderly stroked his jawline. "You cannot imagine how relieved I was when growing up Elphir turned into your lookalike, showing all the signs of Mithrella's ancestry."

Imrahil snorted. "Yes, it would certainly have set even more tongues wagging had he turned out like Erchirion. _That_ child of ours truly got a good dash of Southern spice and also your courage and passionate heart."

She sighed. "I wish he had got more of your sceptical brain, for I fear that his heart will one day cause him more pain than any man should bear."

He kissed the tip of her ear. "I'm afraid all the sceptical brain I had to bequeath went to our first-born, Falmarinya, and there was nothing left for the others. But though he is far from being the accomplished diplomat Elphir is I do not fear for him. Why, my dear, is he not highly respected for his military prowess even at his young age? Do not his men love and respect him and would follow wherever he would lead them? And a captain who inspires his men is something of great value in these darkening times. And has he not shown the best horsemanship of all our sons? No, my love, there is no need to worry for him. My mind is rather set on edge watching Roth, that mad dog."

A deep frown had appeared on his brow and she reached up to smooth it. "He's still young, Imrahil. He'll..."

Still frowning, he shook his head. "He's reckless, Gelíris. His actions are rash and risky. And what is worse: He has the charisma that makes men admire him for that."

"He'll grow out of it, you'll see. And you have to admit that for all his youth he's an accomplished sailor."

Imrahil sighed. "He is a better one than I was his age. And I will admit that I did more than only one risky thing at that time of my life. What worries me is that one day he might cross the small gap between reckless and ruthless. But I should not darken your mood with worries that might be unfounded - especially not this day."

Smiling, he stooped and kissed the tip of her nose again. "Get dressed, Falmarinya, for otherwise you might tempt me to impoliteness, for our guests then would have to wait quite a while for the appearance of their splendid hostess."

"Their hostess only?" Winking at him, she doffed the robe and reached for the finely-worked lawn shift the maid had placed over the back of the chair.

He chuckled, and the soft, throaty sound made her hold her breath as she felt the heat of passion build low in her belly. How could he do that to her with nothing but that incredible voice – could still do it thirty years after she had heard that sound and hopelessly fallen for it for the first time?

And then all of a sudden his arms enclosed her, pulling her against his eager body. Still a warrior's body, honed, well-muscled though rather sinewy than beefy. Sighing softly, she nestled into his chest, her fingers sliding down his sides, caressing his flanks. She felt his breath in her hair, his lips searching for the soft spot just behind her ear. And then his right hand slid over her hip, stroking that dratted birthmark before it cupped her buttock, pressing the softness of her belly against the hard flesh of his erection. With a moan she grabbed his hips. Their guests would certainly have to wait.


End file.
